Tales of the Summoned: Odin
by The RPGenius
Summary: This is the story of the gallant warrior, Odin. Like the Summoned Monster himself, it spans many worlds of Final Fantasy. Thanks to many of my friends for proofreading. Name has changed recently, so earlier chapters are slightly inaccurately titled.
1. Prologue

_Legal Crap_: The RPGenius does not own the games that are mentioned. He does not profit from writing about them. He does not get sued for writing. Deal?

_**Gallant Heart: Story of Odin Prologue**_

_By The RPGenius _

Simon looked down at the dusty, yellowed manuscript that sat on his desk. He had been searching for longer than he cared to think about for something like this; a piece of literature never translated in this monastery's library. He had found it rolled up behind several old books on legends. Its age was clear, and Simon suspected it could be old enough to come from the time of Ajora. Perhaps it was even older.

As Agrias and her knights made their routine check of the Orbonne Monastery, and as Ovelia prepared herself for bed, Simon prepared for a long night. He was searching for clues, for answers. He had recently managed to obtain the church's top-secret Germonik Scriptures for his own private use, a manuscript which he had been translating off and on for a very long time. Though he was not nearly done with the translation of it, it painted a vividly different picture of the 'saint' Ajora than was taught in the customary teachings. So, now finally having the book in his possession for the forseeable future, Simon had been searching the rest of the monastery's library in the hopes of finding something, anything, that could be used for purpose of contemporary reference to the Germonik Scriptures, to better gauge its truths.

He hoped that this manuscript would live up to his expectations.

Putting on his glasses, Simon began translating the ancient symbols into readable words on another sheet of paper.

"Story of Odin…" he murmured quietly to himself as he read the title. "That doesn't sound like anything that might help my current dilemma…"

Nonetheless, Simon began working on the manuscript. The story that he ended up engrossed with for the rest of the week was not from the time of Ajora, or of the ancient wars. It was, in fact, older. Older than Simon could even guess. He finished his work with it shortly before the arrival of Gafgarion and the abduction of Ovelia. Although it had little to nothing to do with Ajora, Simon felt that it was an important tale.

This is as his manuscript reads…


	2. Chapter 1: Mortal Warrior, Immortal Peri...

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Legal Crap: No profiting, no owning, no suing.

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Chapter 1: Mortal Warrior, Immortal Peril

By The RPGenius

Simon's Notes: Far back in time, farther than any recorded history in Ivalice, possibly farther than most recorded history for any world, there was a world known as Spillara. Spillara's people were as any others are. They had wars and they had periods of peace. They developed many separate ways of warfare, some of which resemble the ways of Ivalice's peoples, others completely different. From what I can gather, some of their warriors were skilled in arts of destructive power, perhaps like the Wizard. Others were comparable to Summoners, yet they only seemed to summon a small number of monsters that ours can, not nearly as many as Summoners today in Ivalice.

But I digress. The warriors that we should be concerned with are like the Knights and Lancers of Ivalice. They wielded swords, spears, and sometimes both. They rode on strange, eight-legged animals called horses. There is no mention of chocobos in any part of this tale, and thus I believe that the world did not have any. Certainly none were used as steeds for these warriors.

The story begins by telling of one of the greatest of these warriors. His name was Odin. This manuscript is about him…

***

Odin walked through the halls of Vallana Castle. As he passed each guard, they respectfully changed their spears or swords from one hand to the other, as was custom to do whenever someone of high rank passed by. Each wore a relieved smile on his face while doing so. This was the great warrior, here to save them from the horrible new threat.

Odin walked with pride, but with dignity. He knew he was the greatest warrior ever to roam these halls. He knew full well that his portrait would one day join those of past warriors in this hallway leading to the monarch's chamber. He did not have to suffer from an enhanced ego to know these things. He simply was. There was no doubt in anyone's mind about it.

As Odin stood before the doors leading to the throne room, he tightened his grip on his heavy spear, the mighty Gungnir. He had forged it himself at the age of nineteen. After only one year of training to become a knight for his king, he had been ready to create his own weapon. Such a feat was nearly unknown outside of legends, as almost all other men taking up the noble profession of knighthood had to wait until at least their third or fourth year to be deemed far enough along in their training to be able to create a weapon of their own. And his creation of his own attack technique, Zantestsuken, named for his personal curved blade, at the age of thirty-six was unheard of even within legends. No master of the blade or lance had ever developed new techniques until well into their retirement from the profession of knight, especially not one so effective. The mastery that Odin had with his weapons already far surpassed the mastery that even lifelong knights had. Odin was a warrior among warriors.

The doors were drawn open, and Odin strode into the brightly-lit throne room. King Idno the Seventh sat on his throne. The crease of worry on his face did not entirely leave as he saw his loyal knight stride forward.

Odin thrust Gungnir into the soft tile floor in front of his majesty and laid his shining blade into the ground. He leaned upon the Gungnir in the ancient stance of showing loyalty to the royal family.

"Odin, I will be blunt. You are my greatest warrior. Our kingdom is in great peril."

Odin's deep voice responded. "I have heard of this peril, my lord. There are rumors in the city that the kingdom of Ganne has enlisted the aid of a new breed of warrior to conquer us, and that they approach our borders. It does not bode well."

King Idno sighed wearily. "You have heard rumors that I have had started for the good of the country. Those rumors are not nearly as bad as the truth of the matter, my servant. Our long enemy of Ganne has no blame in this new disaster."

"On the contrary," came a voice from the shadows of the room, "we are in a bad position ourselves."

Odin sharply turned and gazed at the man who had spoken. His red eyes widened as he recognized the speaker's identity. "My liege! Why is this cowardly cur in your chambers?" he blurted out.

The king frowned further. "I am afraid that the answer will not please you. The ambassador of Ganne is here because his kingdom needs help."

Odin barely stopped himself from spitting at the thought. "Ganne needs our help? What trickery is this?"

The king sighed once more. "No trickery, I fear. A few weeks ago, some thirteen beasts attacked our northernmost border. And they completely destroyed the fort that we had there. No one was left alive, not even children. We only received news of this attack thanks to a guard who had left his post. He was returning as these monsters attacked. They did not see him, and he thus witnessed the entire ordeal. He has described the massacre to me several times. These beasts seemed impervious to any attack; they wielded powerful magic and unheralded strength. Everyone they came in contact with they destroyed. When I sent a small group of soldiers to investigate a few days later, they told me that all they found were the ruins of the fortress and the twisted, bloody bodies of those that had defended it."

Odin spoke up. "The tale seems ridiculous, majesty! No monsters have magic, nor that power! To overrun the fortress so would require an army of men…an army that Ganne could create!"

The diplomat spoke up angrily at this point. "Odin, hated warrior of Vallana, you speak without knowledge of the destruction there. Our country was taxed too far by the recent war with yours, and we could never create an army strong enough to leave a fortress in ruins! More sorcerers would be required to destroy it than in all our lands!"

King Idno continued. "I, too, would have thought it was Ganne. However, days after the attack, my spy network received news that the western border fort of Ganne had been similarly eradicated. Again, no one survived there. Then, days later, these monsters struck again, before I had decided what to do. This time, a mere six of them attacked. They spared one man, ordering him to inform his king that they had arrived. At the same time as this slaughter, the other seven were destroying a town of Ganne's."

Odin spoke up once more. "What would you have me do, your majesty?"

Idno gestured to the messenger from Ganne. "In the span of the last four days, a total of sixteen more towns of ours and twelve of Ganne's have been obliterated. The beasts are pushing toward this capital and toward the capital of Ganne. They move very, very fast, covering incredible distances within hours. They seem to be circling the capitals of our two kingdoms, with an easy pattern to recognize. The monsters will be hitting the city of Ganoon soon. I want you to take your finest troops there and stop them."

Odin needed but a moment to digest this information. "You mean, majesty, that you want us to defend a city of Ganne!? To preserve the life of our foe!?"

Idno spoke sharply to his warrior. "Odin, this is an emergency. These monsters are a far greater threat than Ganne. If our two kingdoms work together, we may be able to overcome them. If we don't, we may both perish. You have an order. Gather your greatest men and assemble at Ganoon by noon tomorrow."

With that, Odin was dismissed. He stood, picked up his weapons, and left the chamber, and walked to the knights' quarters. His mind was still reeling at the thought of joining forces with the reviled Ganne armies.

***

Odin was nothing if not loyal to his king, and by noon the next day, he and the ten men that he had chosen were riding into Ganoon on their steeds.

Odin looked about, his lip curled in disgust at the sight of this city of the Ganne kingdom. These people were his sworn enemies, and he had to cooperate with them. From the glances of the citizens as they went about their lives, they clearly didn't like the idea of the greatest warrior of Vallana living amongst them.

Odin and his warriors reached the barracks for the town's guards. They dismounted and went inside. The people of the town were quite busy, with many, many soldiers and sorcerers of the Ganne forces milling around. Odin even caught glimpses of an occasional caller, the newest kind of soldiers. They could call powerful entities to do their bidding. Odin had seen them in the field of combat, and grudgingly admitted that they were not to be taken lightly. The four beings that were known of that could be called, an old man with the power of lightning, an immense sea serpent, a gigantic machine of power, and an awe-inspiring dragon, could leave entire battlefields destroyed.

The commotion died down as Odin stepped in, and all eyes focused on him. Some were fearful. Some curious. Many filled with hate.

Odin didn't care. He strode forward and stood before the knight with the insignia of a captain. "I am Odin. I have come to assist you with my knights."

The captain was a man made of stern stuff. Even while facing the warrior that had taken the lives of more Ganne men than could be counted, his voice and gaze did not waver. "I see only half a score with you. Surely your kingdom is not weakened so far by the wars against ours that it could not send more."

Odin let an edge of cold anger into his voice. "I am worth as many warriors as you need. These men I bring are worth a dozen of yours. You will accept this number or none."

The captain looked at Odin with distaste, then turned away. "Prove it tonight. We are expecting an attack then."

With that, most of those in the room got back to their business. Odin and his men were left to find somewhere to make camp in the streets.

***

The sun had set, and most of the people in the city had been evacuated. Guards were everywhere, gripping their many weapons tightly. Users of magic and callers walked here and there, waiting for their moment to take revenge on the monsters that had decimated their neighboring towns.

A small fire blazed in the streets, and Odin and his men sat around it, eating the rations they had brought along and warily watching the Ganne troops in all that they did. They did not trust their new allies for one instant.

As a cool breeze filtered through the streets and caused the flames to bend slightly, Odin frowned and gripped his sword tightly. As a natural warrior, he had a set of instincts that had yet to fail him. And they were telling him right now that something was about to happen.

Lan, one of the men that Odin had hand picked to come along with him in this most dangerous mission, noticed that his leader seemed tense. "Is something wrong, sir?" he asked.

Odin nodded curtly. "Get your weapons out and get on your horses. Quickly."

Without asking questions, they did as they were told. Each got on his separate steed, and prepared his sword or lance for combat. Odin had brought along no sorcerers or callers. Though he recognized their power, they lacked one quality that he demanded from all those who followed him: the heart of a knight and the code of morals that came with the profession.

Odin sheathed Zantetsuken for the moment and held his Gungnir. For him, the sword was a weapon only if the spear of his own making were lost or taken away from him. He quickly mounted his steed, Sleipnir.

Sleipnir had been a present from Odin's king once he had completed his training as a knight. This boon had been specially bestowed upon Odin for his extraordinary abilities as a protector of the royal family and the people of the kingdom. Sleipnir was perhaps the only living thing in the world that Odin cared for with affection and tenderness, and Odin was the only rider that the horse would allow onto his back.

Mere moments after Odin had mounted Sleipnir, the sounds of an explosion of energy rocked the previously quiet night. Near the entrance to town, flames now engulfed a building. Guards began pouring to the scene of the attack, and a bell began tolling to sound an alarm.

Odin turned to his charges and barked out orders. "Lan, Thur, Cival, Wain, you set up a perimeter around the town. If there are any other foes preparing to attack from another angle, it will be your responsibility to alert the soldiers to that danger and to fight the monsters there. Odys, Ules, round up any civilians that are in danger and see to it that they find somewhere safe to stay during this battle. Lear, Let, Oth, and Meo, you will follow me; we will be heading to the fray!"

No further words were said. Each man rode to his separate mission, and Odin led his four warriors to the fray.

Upon reaching the scene of the disaster, even the experienced, hard Odin was sickened by what he saw. Soldiers were everywhere, so numerous that Odin could not even make out what the monsters they were fighting looked like. The corpses of dozens of troops already littered the scene, their bodies twisted, bloody, and misshapen in death. Odin could see that his foes not only killed their victims without weapons, for nothing but hands with enormous strength could do such horrors, but they took pleasure in the killing. None of the brave warriors could possibly have died such hideous deaths unless through malicious glee in slaughter.

A soldier went flying overhead, tossed by one of the demons, and the small opening created in the mad flurry of soldiers fighting allowed Odin a glimpse these monstrously powerful and ferocious foes. To Odin's shock, there were but three enemies attacking, yet they were wreaking havoc on trained soldiers.

They were the design of nightmares. One had four separate arms branching out of a muscular, blue, humanoid body, and a head like that of a demonic ram. The second was even more hideous. It was a fat and bulbous monster, with a head like a murderous fiend. Its body seemed almost as though it were held together by stitches on the front of it, being far too obese to hold itself in without them. The third was worse yet, if such a thing were imaginable. It seemed fairly humanoid in shape, much like the ram-headed first. However, where its hands and wrist should be were long, sharpened stakes of bone, creating two natural broadswords, which seemed to be every bit as deadly as the true weapon, if not more so. Atop this monster's vivid orange human body was a nightmarish head, like that of an ant's. Where its pincers would be, though, it instead had a nightmarish protruding circular mouth, with gnashing teeth on all sides within. This nightmarish mouth most resembled that of a leech.

These three seemed unstoppable. The first two grabbed swords that were thrust at them with their bare hands, then snapped them apart as easily as twigs. The battle was too close now to use spears, so the soldiers were left only with their useless blades to fight with. Occasionally, a spell of fire or lightning might hit them as the sorcerers tried to take these creatures down, but spell casting was limited to less powerful spells for fear of injuring the soldiers that were crowded around the intended victims. The monsters seemed to shrug off these spells as little more than nuisances.

Odin called to his knights behind him, "You four, attack with your spears when you see an opening. Do not tarry, but retreat as soon as the blow has been dealt, for battling these monsters in close quarters means certain death!"

The chance for their attack came swiftly. One sorcerer, realizing that the battle could not be won if it continued thus, cast a more powerful fire spell. A fiery explosion rocked the area around the monsters, and several soldiers were caught in the friendly fire of the sorcerer's attack.

The attack did not seem to deter the beasts for more than an instant, but it was all that was needed. Now that the immediate vicinity around their adversaries was cleared of Ganne soldiers, Odin and his warriors galloped in for the assault.

This new attack was completely unexpected by these foul creatures. Lear and Let struck the bulbous monster head on, impaling his enormous girth twice with so much force that they lost their grip on their lances and rode past with the weapons still protruding from the monster's abdomen. The blue, ram-headed beast managed to grab Meo's spear and threw it aside before it stabbed him, but he did not escape Oth's attack. Oth's spear thrust into the monster's side and ripped the flesh there to ribbons. As Oth rode on, still clutching his spear, the beast roared in pain as blood began to seep from the heavy wound.

Odin was charging alone at the last monster. While Sleipnir galloped toward the foe, Odin lifted Gungnir high. With a burst of strength, he hurled it at the hideous beast. The spear flew true through the air, and drove itself into the chest of its foe and victim. The beast staggered back from the force of the attack, and Vallana's greatest warrior could see that the mighty weapon's head was protruding from the monster's back.

Before the monster could even react to the spear lodged in its chest, Odin had reached him. In one swift motion, he drew his sword and performed his deadly Zantetsuken slice. It was only by the fastest of reactions that the monster managed to raise an arm to block the curved saber. Thanks to this, it was the monster's upper arm, and not his torso, that was severed cleanly. As the now owner-less left arm dropped to the ground, Odin grabbed his spear, violently drew it out of his foe, and rode to regroup with his comrades.

As the gallant men regrouped a distance away, the bulbous monster growled and reached down to the two spears jutting out of his immense girth. With a grunt, he grabbed both and yanked them out of him.

"Dorleeg! A recovery power would be appropriate, don't you think?" it growled, tossing the spears aside as blood began seeping unrestrained from his two deep puncture wounds.

The orange, ant-headed monster responded with a hideous voice, sounding more like a tiger sharpening his nails against a chalkboard than of a voice. "My pleasure, Quecklain. Dark Aura!"

The monster known as Dorleeg lifted his remaining arm. A black light glowed about him, and sped to touch his ram-headed companion and then the bulbous monster known as Queklain. As it encountered each of them, their wounds began healing at extraordinary rate, and when the magic was done, both had no more than crusted blood to show for wounds, and the gaping hole in Dorleeg's chest that Odin had caused was almost completely healed, with only a small scar to remind the warrior that he had ever attacked. Thankfully, Dorleeg's arm did not regenerate, though it did cease bleeding and begin to scab over, but such a fact was of little consolation.

It was then that Odin began to fully realize how bad the situation was. He had expected these monsters to be dead from his troops' and his attack, or at the very least, mortally wounded. Instead, they had had the strength to continue standing and cast a spell. Not only that, but they had used magic to recover themselves. Odin, like all the other warriors present, had never known that magic could be used for curative purposes.

Before another action could be made, a voice rang out among the Ganne troops. "Ramuh!"

Obviously having seen that the monsters were preoccupied with healing, a caller had begun concentrating on summoning the fierce old lightning monster.

The skies clouded over in seconds, and a bolt of lightning struck the ground. From that lightning appeared the fierce deity of Ramuh. Raising his staff, the lightning flew from him to the area of the monsters. The strong magical attack forced the monsters to stumble back a few feet as electricity coursed through their hideous bodies.

When the bolts of lightning stopped, the monsters roared angrily. It seemed that the fierce bolts of Ramuh had done little more than force them back, and no lasting damage.

Before Ramuh disappeared, he seemed to turn his head to fix his gaze at Odin. His eyes pierced Odin's with their intensity. Then, without warning, the old man was gone, leaving Odin wondering if he had imagined the stare of Ramuh.

Odin shook his head and forced it out of his mind. Whatever had happened, it did not matter now.

He looked at Quecklain, Dorleeg, and the other monster, trying to form some strategy before they recovered enough to attack once more. Ramuh's attack had forced them to move back, and now they were no longer so closely knit together.

Suddenly, Odin knew what must be done. "Warriors!" he cried out. "Attack now, before they can regroup!"

Realization flickered in the eyes of Ganne's soldiers as they understood Odin's words. So far, these beasts had been nigh unstoppable together, where they had the advantage of allies to watch their backs. But if they were separated, perhaps there would be a chance to beat them individually.

Forgetting their hatred for Odin and his kingdom, the troops swarmed the monsters, preventing them from joining together again. The loss of life was still horrendous as the monsters began wreaking havoc once more against their foes, but this time, there were many roars of anger and pain heard from the beasts.

Odin prepared to urge Sleipnir into the fray when he realized that Dorleeg was still unaccounted for. Soldiers and the four knights of Odin's surrounded Queklain and the ram-headed monster, but the last beast was nowhere to be seen.

Odin turned his head sharply at the cry of a child. Dorleeg had found a group of civilians that Odys and Ules were attempting to lead to safety. With two quick chops, Dorleeg sliced both men in half before they had a chance to prepare themselves. As the corpses fell from their steeds, Dorleeg turned his attention to the group of women and children that were running away.

Odin's blood boiled and rage filled his mind. Those had been two of the finest troops of Vallana. But more infuriatingly, these monsters had no respect for the rules of war. How dare they attack innocents!? Even the mighty warrior of Odin had never taken the life of a Ganne civilian; to do so was evil and malicious!

"Dorleeg!" he roared. "Coward that you are! Leave the helpless alone and face me, if you dare! Or do you only attack those that cannot fight back, hideous wretch?"

Dorleeg turned and saw Odin. As an agonizing laugh of amusement came from his head, a long, slender tongue darted out to lick the blood from his arm-blade. "You wish to challenge me, Dorleeg, Zodiac Monster of Aquarius? Fool mortal, I will drink deep of the blood you stain my blade with! You dare to challenge one of Lucavi's new order? You are insane indeed. I accept your challenge, madman."

Odin rode forward, gripping Gungnir tightly and calling out, "Odin does not make the vows of a madman, beast, he makes the vows of a warrior, the vows that hold true!"

As he reached attacking distance, Odin hefted his mighty weapon in one hand and drew his sword in another.

He thrust his spear forward with all his might. Unfortunately, he had underestimated the Zodiac Monster's speed, and his spear flew through the air where Dorleeg had been moments ago. The monster, dodging to the side, swept his blade down in a deadly arc, and Odin only just managed to raise his sword to meet it. Dorleeg drew his blade back and prepared to attack once more. Odin, hoping to throw his opponent off-balance, urged Sleipnir to go forward.

Dorleeg sliced at his opponent again, but only grazed the back of his horse as Odin rode out of the way. The wound, however, panicked the poor creature, and it reared back on its back four legs.

This gave Dorleeg an easy shot at Odin, who was desperately trying to keep his grip on Sleipnir. He thrust his long blade at the warrior's flank.

Odin saw the attack coming, and even as he tried to make Sleipnir put its other legs back on the ground, he blocked the attack with the only possible tool he had to do it with: his arm carrying Gungnir. He brought his arm heavily down on Dorleeg's blade and forced it south, sustaining only a minor cut to his arm where it touched the deadly arm-sword. However, he had inadvertently caused disaster for his faithful steed.

Dorleeg's arm was knocked downwards, and it continued its thrust into Sleipnir's third set of legs. With a sickening sound, the first was entirely dismembered and fell to the ground, and the second was very nearly cut off as well.

Sleipnir shrieked at the pain and fell to the ground from a lack of balance. Odin was tossed off a few feet away. The warrior was cold and not known for crying, even at the loss of comrades, but when he heard his horse's wild screams of pain, his heart made a similar sound and tears came to his eyes.

Dorleeg chuckled and prepared to bring his blade down on the lying figure of Odin. A deep hatred filled him as the monster's attack came plunging down on him. This beast had injured his loyal horse, perhaps the only being that Odin totally trusted in battle. This monster, this demon, would pay.

Screaming with rage, Odin rolled to avoid the attack. As Dorleeg's arm-blade met the soft ground and lodged itself there, Odin sprang to his feet and grabbed his Zantestsuken blade. Crying a roar that would have done the monsters he faced proud, he plunged it downward and completely severed Dorleeg's remaining arm. As blood pumped out of the gaping wound, Dorleeg seemed to attempt to cast a spell, but was caught short as Odin snatched Gungnir from the ground and plunged it into Dorleeg with all the strength of an enraged legend.

Almost before it was done going through the flesh of the Zodiac Beast, Odin ripped it out and kicked Dorleeg to the ground. He savagely stabbed him again and again with the powerful Gungnir in a berserk rage. The helpless Dorleeg howled in pain and fury, but could not escape the warrior's wrath.

Suddenly, Dorleeg ceased his noise, and in a bright explosion, he was gone.

Odin leaned upon his spear, breathing heavily, as he heard the other two monsters shout to one another. "Velius! Dorleeg is…it can't be!"

The ram-headed beast now known as Velius roared a response. "There are too many of these irritating humans! We must go for now!"

With a small beam of light, Velius disappeared. The soldiers who had been attacking him swarmed to battle Queklain. The Zodiac beast shouted, "This is not the end, humans! We will crush you all!" Then he, too, disappeared in a beam of light.

The sounds of battle suddenly stopped, replaced by heavy gasps of exertion and a few ragged cheers. The only sound that remained from the battle was that of the pained screams of Sleipnir.

Warriors rushed over to Odin, clapping him on the back, praising him for his strength and tactical genius. What were half an hour ago foes had suddenly become friends through a common enemy.

Odin walked slowly to Sleipnir and knelt by the bleeding horse. As some soldiers began rushing the few warriors who had been lucky enough to be wounded rather than killed to the hospital building, Odin took a long look around him. Blood was everywhere. The crushed bodies of soldiers and their steeds lay strewn about everywhere. Odys and Ules were dead, and Odin spied the corpses of Let and Meo, as well. The victory of this battle was nothing to celebrate. This was not the end of a battle, but the beginning of a horrible war with these new foes known as Zodiac Monsters. Three had been able to cause this wreckage, and there were thirteen altogether. Twelve now that Dorleeg was dead.

Straining himself, Odin's mighty muscles bulged as he slowly lifted Sleipnir from the ground. Several soldiers helped him with the effort. They then brought the brave horse into the hospital as the human soldiers had been.

***

Simon's Notes: Thus begins the tale of Odin. These monsters of the Zodiac leave me with an uneasy feeling, even though these events happened so long ago, and on a different planet.

I am tired now. I will continue this tale tomorrow. 


	3. Chapter 2: Warrior's Virtue

_Legal Crap: It's one of those great deals.  I work my butt off writing about characters for no monetary profit, and you don't sue me for doing so._

**_GALLANT HEART: STORY OF ODIN_**

**_CHAPTER 2: WARRIOR'S VIRTUE_**

_By The RPGenius_

Simon's Notes: The next small segment of the story does not need a full translation, and I do not have the patience, or, indeed, the time that I once had, so I will give a brief overview of it rather than a thorough translation.

On the morning after the attack in which Odin slew Dorleeg, he traveled back to his majesty's castle, his work in the town being done.  His soldiers came with him, and Sleipnir, unable to walk from his injury, was transported in a carriage pulled by other horses, much like our chocobo carriages.

Now, Odin has arrived at Vallana Castle…

***

Odin leant on the Gungnir in the throne room of Vallana Castle as he stood before the king.  Behind him, Lan, Thur, Cival, Wain, Lear, and Oth all leant on their respective lances in the same stance of respect.  The king listened in rapt attention as Odin related the events of the night before.

"My report is complete, your majesty," Odin announced.  "I have told you all I know.  Many lives were ended at the hands of the beasts, Gannian and Vallana, military and civilian.  These foes are without mercy and nigh without parallel."

The king was silent for a moment as Odin finished his narrative, then announced, "Warriors, you have done well and have made Vallana proud.  I must speak with my advisors and the Ganne diplomat now.  You are dismissed until further notice."

Odin and the knights behind him stood upright, lifted their weapons from the floor, and left the king to his business.

***

While the rest of the knights went their own ways, Oth followed Odin as the warrior made his way to the stables in which Sleipnir was recovering from his wounds.  Oth was, in a sense, Odin's only friend, in that he was the only one that the mighty warrior deigned to speak to beyond military matters.  The term 'friend' was not entirely accurate, though, for Odin was a silent and controlled man, and Oth sometimes thought that the powerful knight viewed him as little more than an annoying boy who occasionally felt the need to burden him with conversation.

This was fine with Oth, of course.  He, like any other knight would be, was pleased to be able share time with Vallana's finest fighter regardless of the circumstances.

"We've got a real problem, don't we, sir?" Oth asked, walking faster than he was accustomed to in order to keep up the Odin's powerful stride.

Odin nodded curtly and continued to walk.

"I hope the king knows what he's doing, allying Vallana with Ganne," Oth continued, not in any way bothered by Odin's refusal to join the conversation.  "I suppose we have to, though.  I mean, those things last night were terrible beyond imagination.  What do you suppose the king is planning to do next?"

Odin looked down at the knight following him, glaring.  "It is not my place to second-guess my lord, nor is it to question his actions.  Nor is it yours.  A knight must only serve."

Oth seemed chastened by this reprimand for a few minutes.  Then, his usual optimistic attitude returned, along with his unwanted chatter.  "So, how long do you think it will be before the king summons us back?"

Exasperation was evident in Odin's voice.  "I do not know."

By now, they had reached the door to the stables, and it was quite obvious that Odin wished to be alone when he went in to see his steed.

"Well, I'm going to go see Demona while I have some time off," Oth said.  "Who knows when I'll be able to see her next?"

"Why do you persist in wasting your time with that woman?" Odin asked as Oth turned to leave.

Surprised that Odin actually wished to talk, Oth turned back to the warrior with a hint of confusion on his face.  "Because I love her."

Odin's lip curled with contempt.  "Love is nothing more than a distraction, Oth.  A true knight does not allow such petty concerns to distract him.  The best knight has only one love, and that is duty," he responded haughtily.

Oth was clearly a bit surprised at Odin's words.  "Well, sir, I suppose you must be correct in your judgment, for you are as perfect a knight as ever was.  Still, I always thought that compassion and love completed a knight, not detracted from his abilities," Oth replied.

Odin's expression of disdain did not change.  "That is why you are not the champion of the king, Oth.  A complete knight knows only his duty and his morals, and love is but a distraction that will bring about his end.  Remember that, Oth," the seasoned warrior ended, a touch of masterly wisdom in his voice, as though he were not so much admonishing the knight as he was trying to educate him.

Oth shrugged and turned to leave.  He stopped for a moment.  "Even so, sir Odin, I would not give up my love for Demona for anything."  Then he continued on his way.

Odin watched Oth's figure grow smaller as he walked away, then turned to the stable entrance and went in.  Bah!  Oth refused to accept the truth of the matter.  Even if Odin found the younger knight a thorn in his side, he also held enough respect for the man as a warrior, and even perhaps a speck of friendship toward him, to want him to succeed as a great knight.  But if the foolish soldier was going to insist on hampering his achievements with such foolhardy notions of love, then Odin would not get in the way.

Odin walked through the stables filled with mares groomed and trained for battle until he reached one particular stall.  A stable boy was sitting by it, carefully watching its occupant.

Upon hearing the heavy sound of Odin's stride nearing, he looked up and hastily tried to stand at attention and change his pitchfork from one hand to another as was custom.

"Sir Odin," the young man greeted him, a quiver in his voice.  After all, not many stable lads had the chance to meet with the famed fighter, and none save Odin had ever cared for Sleipnir in the past.

Odin nodded curtly.  "Sleipnir is doing well?"

"Oh, yes, sir.  He seems to be getting better.  The wound was a clear cut, so there's nothing left to inflame it, and it seems to be starting to heal up, sir.  I think that he's not in as much pain as before, either, Sir Odin, sir," the boy reported, nodding vigorously.

Odin nodded, a faint smile on his lips at the boy's eager attitude.  If only Oth had this much devotion to his craft.

"I would like to be alone with him," Odin requested.  The boy nodded vigorously once more, and then quickly left the stables.

Odin's amusement at the boy's antics quickly left him as he stepped forward to see the inside of the stable in which Sleipnir was being kept, regularly attended to by the finest horse experts and veterinarians of the Vallana Kingdom.

On a pile of soft hay sat Sleipnir, bandages covering the two areas where strong limbs were once.  Both had stains of blood on them, but did not seem to be collecting any more at the moment.  The steed's head was bowed, perhaps in sleep.

However, as Odin looked on, Sleipnir raised his head and, seeing his master, gave an affectionate whinny.  It attempted to rise upon its remaining six legs, but the pain or the lack of balance was too great, and the beast slumped back down to sitting position after only half-way rising.

A rare feeling of pity, sorrow, and care overcame Odin as he looked at his faithful horse.  Sleipnir was the only thing in the world that Odin allowed himself to care for beyond the king.  Ever since first getting the loyal horse, it had been his only friend and companion in battle and out.

Odin recalled the day that he had received Sleipnir.  He had achieved the rank of knighthood at the uncommonly young age of seventeen years…

***

"You may rise, Odin," King Idno had told the young man that had come to his chamber.  Until completing the training to become a knight, all who went before the king were required to kneel down and turn their heads to the side.

The young man rose, still looking away in ritual respect.  Even at such an early age, Odin had the build and look of a warrior, much more impressive than the typically lean, thin body of the rest of the knight trainees.

"Odin of Vallana, boy of unknown parents, adopted son of King Idno," the king had continued as was ritual, "You have completed your training to serve and protect the land, ruler, and peoples of Vallana from all hostiles?"

Odin had answered ceremonially, "I have.  Bestow upon me the right and means to defend Vallana's honor."

"You are given a choice, champion-to-be.  Choose the sword or spear that lay at your feet, but know that the one that is not chosen must be forged and made by yourself."

Odin had slowly bent down to pick up the cruel curved sword that lay to his left.

The king had risen from his throne and bowed his head in customary respect and tradition.  "You are now Sir Odin, knight of Vallana."

And the tradition was over.  Odin had begun the most promising career in knighthood in the history of Vallana.

King Idno had stepped forward and given the young man a fatherly hug.  "I speak as both your king and as your legal guardian when I say that you make me very proud, Odin.  And that I have little doubt that you will continue to do so."

"Thank you, my liege," Odin had replied stiffly.  He had never cared for hugging.

Idno let the boy free, then motioned to the window.  "It's customary for a father to give his son a gift for completing the trials of knight training, and you have done excellently.  You are as close to a son as ever I had, so…"

Odin had looked down the window to the grassy courtyard two stories below.  Tied to a post below was a beautiful, strong dark gray steed.

"His name is Sleipnir.  He is yours, Odin.  May he always serve you well on the battlefield and off," Idno had told the young warrior.

***

"Sleipnir, you have always served me better than any horse has ever before served his master," Odin mused as he watched the injured horse rest.  "But now, you are wounded, and forever will you lack two of your legs.  Will you ever be able to bring me to battle again, old friend?"

The law of Vallana said that any horse or warrior that had been wounded grievously in the war and handicapped would be forced into early retirement, for the warrior kingdom did not want liabilities on the heated field of battle.

Sleipnir's head rose again to look at his master.  His eyes never wavering, he again tried to stand.  This time, though unbalanced and in pain, he managed to bring himself upright and stay in that position.  Sleipnir gave a loud whinny.

Odin's lips formed a proud smile.  "You do not give up on me, even though you are handicapped.  I shall not give up on you, faithful Sleipnir.  You are a boon for knighthood, the symbol of all my struggles to achieve my rank.  You are my faithful and steadfast steed who carries me to the thick of battle with no fear.  You are my only true companion; the only being I need.  When you have recovered, I shall ride you still.  I could ride no other."

"Sir Odin!" came a voice from the entrance to the stables.

Odin turned and beheld the knight Lan.  "Yes?"

Lan gestured to the outside and said, "King Idno requests your presence in the throne room."

Odin nodded and followed.

***

Odin, the men that had been with him during the previous night's battle, and some of the Vallana military's better officers had all assembled in the throne room.  The king sat upon his throne, with military strategists to his left and the Ganne diplomat to his right.

"Warriors," the king began.  "I have called you here to fight the greatest threat our kingdom has encountered so far.  You all must play an important part in the defense of our home country.  I have met with my advisors and with our new ally from Ganne, and have prepared a plan to defend against this new foe."

To the gathered warriors' dismay, they began being briefed not by an officer from Vallana, but by the diplomat from Ganne.

"Last night, the warrior Odin, long reviled by the Ganne people until now, managed to slay one of these monstrous beasts while defending one of our towns.  However, another target was hit by another group of monsters in the borders of my country, as well.  Two of these hideous monsters attempted to take the small town of Barrni.  However, they, too were beaten back.  For unluckily for them, that small town was where my country trained a secret force of sorcerers," the Ganne diplomat explained.  "They were being trained in hopes of being the winning edge in the next war against your kingdom.  The many, many spells of destruction cast managed to force the monsters to retreat, though Odin remains the only man to have been able to take one's life."

Many of the soldiers assembled looked sorely tempted to attack the diplomat from the hated country of Ganne.  Odin, however, being a warrior who did not allow emotions to cloud his judgment, was shocked for a different reason.  He had no thought that this information meant that Ganne had been breaking its peace treaty (not that Vallana did not also break the same treaty in its own ways).  His one thought was that this was far beyond serious.  He had realized the situation was serious the previous night, when fighting the nigh-unbeatable foe of Dorleeg.  But for a Ganne diplomat to freely admit such illegal actions taken by his country in Odin and King Idno's presence…

The situation was desperate.  Ganne was no longer letting any of the grudge it had held against Vallana for years beyond recollection cloud its judgment.

And Odin realized that he must also destroy the last traces of bitter resentment he felt toward this neighboring country disappear, as well, if they were to work together and successfully.

He motioned for his comrades to silence themselves and listened with rapt attention to what this diplomat, able to put aside generations of hatred for the common good, had to say.


	4. Chapter 3: End of an Era

GALLANT HEART: STORY OF ODIN  
CHAPTER 3: END OF AN ERA  
By The RPGenius  
  
Simon's Notes: The next area of this tale is mainly descriptive in nature, and so, not having an adequate time for a full translation, I will briefly relate the contents of this narrative.  
  
The country of Ganne was a very open one, with few natural barriers such as mountains or rivers. Ganne was not a large country for this reason, because defending it was difficult when one all sides were open to attack. It is actually quite a wonder that they managed to be a formidable foe to the warrior country of Vallana with such a weak strategic position. It is likely that if both countries were given equal natural defenses, Ganne would prove to be the stronger.  
  
Vallana, by contrast, was gifted with several natural defenses. The Zodiac Monsters had already decimated several of its most outer-lying forts and towns, but the main part of Vallana was still fairly safe. Vallana's capital and most of its cities were almost entirely surrounded by great mountain ranges, you see, ones that were highly difficult to pass through alone, and certainly impossible to bring any large force through. At its back was the ocean, and since the country of Ganne was entirely land-based, with no access to the ocean unless it went through the territory of another country, there was little chance of a sea attack. In effect, there was really only one way to enter the main part of Vallana: Ralov Fortress. This fortress was built by Vallana in the center of the only area in which the mountains parted to form a grassy, even strip of land. Needless to say, Vallana put a great deal of time and effort into the upkeep and defenses of this fortress, for its position guaranteed that no large force could avoid it if entering Vallana. Though this document indicates that Ganne had managed to overcome the fortress before in many previous wars, it was still the most important part of Vallana's defense.  
  
Ralov Fortress is very different from the conventional styles of Ivalice's. As one would expect, there was a high wall forming the perimeter; this wall surrounded a very unique structure. The main part of Ralov was a large building that would look no different from a typical castle of this land save for one factor: the many small towers branching out. Ralov's center building was surrounded by ten fairly small towers in a placement pattern forming of a decagon. At the top of each was a stone corridor that connected it to the main structure. Dormitories for the soldiers were located in the main building near every tower's corridor. This way the soldiers could be deployed quickly to all areas in Ralov.  
  
Bah. I go on and on, and I meant to make this but a brief description. I shall now continue the true translation of this story. Let us see what happens next to the warrior Odin.  
  
* * *  
  
Odin stood upon the defensive walls of Ralov Fortress, gazing out at long expanse of green grasslands, lit only by the stars and a half moon. On either side of him, many sorcerers and callers quietly did the same, watching the wind make and part waves in the grass as in the sea.  
  
It was a simple enough plan that had been proposed, yet one that could only have been considered in such cataclysmic times as the ones that had befallen Vallana and Ganne of late. Odin, along with all of Vallana's magic-using soldiers, would travel to and guard Ralov Fortress from the attack that would surely come from the demonic foes. Almost all of the rest of Vallana's military (which, considering Vallana's reliance upon warriors rather than magic, was considerably larger than Odin's force) had been mobilized to Ganne to assist in a major evacuation of the entire country. Because it was based in a broad, open country, Ganne was simply too difficult to defend properly. Thus, it would be evacuating to its neighboring countries, though the vast majority would be taken into Vallana.  
  
It was not a plan that Odin liked. Granted, he could certainly see the wisdom in it, and even admitted that it might very well be the only rational alternative left to the kingdom.  
  
To begin with, transporting that many people all together was very risky, even with such an enormous military escort. With such a number of people to defend, and with that much territory to cover.it would be easy for these monstrous fiends to take advantage of the situation and attack, causing mayhem.  
  
The other major concern that Odin held about the strategy was what would happen once the refugees reached their destinations. Until just the past few days, Ganne and Vallana were the bitterest of rivals. Would the people of Vallana be able to disregard their past enmity and offer a home to their new allies? Would the two peoples be able to live together until this threat had passed?  
  
Odin knew these to be rhetorical questions.  
  
Squabbles, bitter feuds, and bloodshed awaited these people. They would be unable to work together, to come together as a whole. No, they'd start small civil wars, causing internal strife that would make the situation of the country's defense that much more impossible.  
  
But this was the strategy that the ruler of Ganne and the ruler of Vallana had created, and Odin was bound by honor, oath, and duty to do his utmost to ensure its success. And so he continued to stand upon the walls of Ralov, scanning the area before him for any signs of movement, friendly or hostile.  
  
And then Odin heard it.  
  
The sounds of distant battle, he realized, clenching Gungnir more tightly. Explosions, screams of agony, and the roars of the horrible monsters reached the warrior's ears. He and the soldiers with him peered hard out into the dark night before them, but could see nothing. This couldn't be.for the sounds to reach them, surely the men should have been able to see the battle from here? Unless.  
  
Unless the sounds were not muffled by distance, but by walls. Odin whirled about and rushed into the fortress, making his way through it to the large courtyard in the back of the great structure.  
  
A scene all too reminiscent of the night before greeted the warriors' eyes. Somehow, two of the beasts had managed to do the unthinkable: pass through the treacherous mountain ranges that surrounded Ralov Fortress and enter through the back of it. The entire fortress had been caught unawares, and now the two fiends were slaughtering the soldiers within before any could cast their spells.  
  
One of the monsters was the bulbous Queklain from the previous night's battle, with not even a scar to show for the last evening's bloody combat. His companion was unknown to Odin. It was another monster whose main body seemed humanoid, as Velius had been. The body was strong, with rippling muscles. The part that made it a nightmare, however, was the garish grinning head of a lion with braided mane sitting atop the body.  
  
Odin took Gungnir in his hands and hurled it with all the strength of a living legend at his foe. Without Sleipnir to ride in battle, he would have to fight as a foot soldier, and since his Zantetsuken was much more suited for such a task than his Gungnir, throwing the mighty spear as a javelin was probably the best way for him to cause damage with it.  
  
Skilled as he was in the many ways of war, Odin's attack flew true, and the powerful Gungnir buried itself up to the shaft in the ugly head of Queklain. Odin turned his attention to the other monster, satisfied that the first was very dead.  
  
To the warrior's great and unpleasant surprise, Queklain, without bothering to even remove the weapon from his skull, turned to his companion and said, as best he could, "There is the fool who killed Dorleeg, Hashmalum. As you can see, he's rather more dangerous than the other rabble." Odin took a small bit of comfort in the fact that Queklain at least sounded as though he were in a large amount of pain.  
  
The other monster, Hashmalum, did not bother to respond, simply moving towards Odin and snarling eagerly. Vallana's greatest warrior reached for his blade-  
  
"Chicken Race!" Queklain called out. To the warrior's horror, his arms dropped to his side, dead and lifeless. Try as he might, he could not move any part of them.  
  
"Yes, mighty warrior," Queklain sneered, pulling the Gungnir messily from himself and tossing it aside, "I wonder how well you'll be able to fight with the curse of No Act cast upon you, hm? I-"  
  
The demon's speech was interrupted as a sudden dark cloud formed above him and a monstrous bolt of lightning struck him, the thunder at so close a range nearly deafening. After the bolt had surged through him, Queklain glared with his mutilated and now-blackened face at the group of spell- casters that he and Hashmalum had been battling moments before.  
  
"I'll let you deal with that fool, Hashmalum, while I clean up out here," Queklain growled angrily, charging at the Vallana sorcerors.  
  
Hashmalum turned back to Odin, but the crippled warrior was no longer there. Looking about, Hashmalum saw the man entering one of the many towers of Ralov. Snorting in mild irritation, the hellish beast gave chase.  
  
Odin's long and powerful legs let him take the winding stairs three at a time as he ran up the narrow staircase leading to one of the armories of Ralov. The mind of the warrior raced as he tried to formulate a plan of action while he climbed in the dim torchlight. His arms were useless to him, meaning that he could not battle his pursuer face-to-face, or he would surely perish. At the top of these stairs was a corridor leading to the main fortress, and the first major area of the building from that entrance would be an armory. If Odin could only make it there.  
  
While the kingdom of Ganne had chosen a recent path towards the research and refinement of magic in warfare, Vallana had chosen a path towards scientific research to develop new weapons in warfare, putting minimal emphasis on its magic-users (nearly all of the kingdom's wizards were actually all outside battling Queklain, truth be told). Right as the most recent of peace treaties had been signed, Vallana had found a powerful new weapon which, when lighted by fire, could achieve terrifying, powerful explosions far surpassing those that Ganne's sorcerers were yet capable of. Loaded into small canisters, a length of rope coming out from the container would be lit on fire, and the canister would be hurled from a catapult into either the enemy fortress's walls or into the oncoming opposing army, whichever the case may be. The resulting explosion was devastating in either situation. This new, dark powder had yet to be christened with a conventional name, but every one of the small store rooms throughout Ralov fortress contained several barrels full of the circular canisters.  
  
It was the only thing Odin could think of that would be strong enough to defeat one of these beasts beyond conventional weaponry, which was now as useless to the warrior as his limp arms and hands.  
  
Odin grunted softly as he continued to climb the stairs, a few drops of perspiration forming on his brow. The cold, hard slabs of stone seemed to mock him as he climbed them, wearing him out as Hashmalum followed further down. But he was near the top, he was sure of it, as he took in the flickering, torch-lit world around him. Just a little more and he'd be there.  
  
And then, Odin tripped.  
  
Pain shot through the warrior as his chin landed hard upon the cold grey stone step before him, and one further down jutted into his chest savagely. It was no more than a simple and careless error, but without his hands to pull himself up, Odin could not immediately stand and resume climbing the tower.  
  
Hastily, he used his knees to push off of one side of the wall and get onto his back. Before he could attempt to right himself, however, Hashmalum came into his vision a few steps below. The monster's face broke into a garish grin as he sped his ascent to take advantage of the warrior's plight.  
  
Odin saw the glint of the eager hunt in Hashmalum's eyes, could hear the excited breath he took as he came to spell doom for the warrior. Odin had one chance to get out of this.or he would most certainly be dead.  
  
The monster was all but on him, now. Hashmalum drew back his arm, shaping his hand flat and letting the curved, cruel nails speak for themselves. He prepared to strike at the fallen soldier's heart.  
  
And Odin reared his legs back and slammed his feet into Hashmalum's face with all his strength. The strong, muscle-bound limbs built from years of hard training and combat drove against their target with such force that even the enormous and mighty monster was thrown back several feet-into air. The beast fell down the stairs, tumbling and rolling out of sight.  
  
Even before Hashmalum was gone from the warrior's vision, Odin was getting to his feet as quickly as he could while still being careful not to fall once more. Once he was upright, he continued his climb of the remaining steps until he had reached the top. He broke into a desperate run down the corridor leading to the main structure. As his limbs carried him forward in powerful strides, he tried to calm his hastened breathing and to abolish the frenzied thoughts of what would happen should he fail in this plan. He must think calmly and rationally now-panic would only hinder his abilities.  
  
He reached the small room at the end of the corridor and slammed into the closed door blocking his path to the next room. His momentum, power, and weight knocked the portal open, and the warrior tumbled into the armory.  
  
As he worked hastily to stand once more, Odin looked around the racks of swords, lances, gauntlets, and various other weapons and armors until he had located a set of large, inconspicuous wooden barrels. Once he was able, he rushed over to them.  
  
One of the barrels' top had been removed, and Odin was satisfied to see that inside were many neatly-stacked canisters of Vallana's deadly explosive powder. Just what he had been hoping for.  
  
The warrior raised his heavy boot and slammed it into the large container, toppling it over with a dull thud. One of the canisters fell out, but the rest were tightly packed enough to stay within the barrel. Wasting no time, Odin aimed another kick at the overturned container and sent it rolling away down the corridor he had just come from.  
  
As it slowly settled to a stop a few feet down the hallway, Odin leapt straight into the air. His head smashed into one of the lit torches lighting the room, knocking it out of its holder and onto the cold floor of stone.  
  
Odin looked up for a moment to judge distance and angle. As he did so, his blood chilled as he saw at the far end of the hallway Hashmalum's head rising from the stairwell, its demonic features twisting to a ferocious grin as he saw his prey.  
  
Odin forced himself to lower his gaze from the fearsome face of a lion satisfied that his prey would soon be his. The warrior quickly judged the distance and angle between the overturned barrel down the corridor and the still-burning torch by his boots. He then kicked the torch and watched it glide across the floor down the corridor toward the barrel as Hashmalum arrived at the top step and began quickly making his way through the same corridor.  
  
Odin's kick was well-placed, and the torch lit one of the fuses of the canisters. As the fire quickly traveled up the short length of rope, Odin turned away from it and his pursuer and ran to the stone doorway separating the armory from the rest of the fortress. He stepped over to the right a bit, keeping his back to the wall, and knelt down to wait for the explosion.  
  
He saw it vividly in his mind, his imagination leaping unbidden to create the scenario. Hashmalum's methodical approach, an inescapable death. The fuse's steady burning, an inevitable savior. Death approaching its target. Fire nearing its own. Closer.  
  
Closer.  
  
And then, the world erupted as tension became noise. The fuse had won the race.  
  
A blast of heat assaulted Odin as an immense explosion assaulted his ears and shook him inside and out. As various debris came hurtling through the doorway, the entire stone wall that Odin crouched against blew apart, enormous blocks of masonry mingling in the air with the other flying debris. Several large chunks pinned Odin to the floor.  
  
As quickly as it had begun, the explosion ceased. The only noise to be heard was a tremendous, yet far-away crash as what must have been the better part of the corridor between tower and fortress landed on the ground below. And then, the soft sounds of falling bits and pieces of aftermath.  
  
Vallana's finest fighter struggled to free himself from the confines of the debris atop him, but without use of his arms could not succeed. There was no danger now, but Odin still wished to return to the battle with Queklain that he had been forced to flee from.  
  
And suddenly.an iron vice against Odin's skull violently ripped him from his awkward prison and lifted him up-  
  
To eye level with the blackened face of an enraged demon.  
  
Hashmalum tightened his grip on his human opponent's head as he calmly and quietly seethed, "For such inferior creatures, you mortals certainly can be bothersome."  
  
Odin struggled, trying to kick out at his enemy, to escape the monster's clutches, but could do nothing as his skull was slowly but surely being crushed.  
  
Without warning, Hashmalum hurled the warrior into one of the mostly undamaged walls. The blow knocked the wind out of the warrior, and he fell to the floor face-first, wheezing and weakly trying to rise.  
  
"Still," the demon continued cheerfully, "Vengeance seems very therapeutic. Seeing you beings bruise, your bones break, bodies bleed.it really does just make me tingle with joy. This existence of mine might just turn out to be very pleasant even with you pests."  
  
Temporarily weakened as he was, Odin managed to raise himself only fractionally off the floor-and suddenly realized that he had used his arms and hands to do so.  
  
Queklain's curse had worn off.  
  
With renewed vigor at this discovery, Odin rolled aside as Hashmalum reached to grab the man again. As Hashmalum recovered his balance, Odin got up as quickly as his body would allow, drew the cruel, curved Zantetsuken, and rushed his opponent.  
  
The mortal combatant brought his deadly sabre down with all the force he could muster to cleave Hashmalum's skull in twain-and suddenly stopped. But not of his own volition. His demonic foe had grabbed hold of his arms as they brought the blade down, and was easily holding them in place, even as Odin's honed muscles strained to finish the blow.  
  
Hashmalum's other arm lashed forward, slamming into Odin's unprepared chest. The warrior was knocked back off his feet, Zantetsuken flying from his grasp to slide several feet away.  
  
Lying on his back, Odin was gripped by terror as he realized that he lay dangerously close to the edge of the corridor that had been obliterated. Below he could hear the sounds of battle as Vallana's troops continued the battle with Queklain. Indeed, if he were to look straight up he would see the starry sky above directly above his face.  
  
But the warrior's eyes were focused on a different subject-that of Hashmalum bending down to bring his face to Odin's. He could feel the hot, putrid breath of the monster steadily gushing onto him as the demon spoke. "You mortals just don't give up, do you? You just refuse to acknowledge your fate, even as it looks right at you. Pesky things."  
  
Hashmalum raised an arm and clenched his fist to deliver a final blow. Suddenly, a brilliant flare of light tore through the night's darkness as the enormous castle-like figure of Alexander rose from the ground far below, its holy light turning night to noon for a few moments as holy spears rained down from its crown to assault Queklain below. Hashmalum roared in pain and covered his eyes from the pure light.  
  
Odin saw this and immediately grabbed hold of the demon and with all his strength flung the demon over his head and into the now-bright sky. Hashmalum hurtled to the ground far below as Alexander finished its attack and vanished, allowing the night's darkness to once again blanket the world.  
  
Odin lay for a moment, breathing heavily, before he forced himself to his feet. He wearily retrieved Zantetsuken and hurried through the building as fast as his tired body was able to return to the courtyard and join his Vallanan allies.  
  
When he exited the fortress's main structure, Odin was surprised to hear only the quiet sounds of night creatures. The noise of conflict was gone. Had Vallana's sorcerers overcome their foe.or had Queklain murdered them all?  
  
"Sir Odin!" came a call from the darkness many feet away, and the warrior sighed in relief that it was a human's voice. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw two Vallanan wizards approaching him wearily, followed by several other mages bearing the insignia of Ganne.  
  
"We witnessed the death of your foe as he fell from the high fortress, sir Odin! To defeat him by yourself.you are truly incredible!" one of the Vallanan sorcerers enthused.  
  
"It was more luck than anything," Odin replied curtly. "And what of Queklain? Why are there Gannian mages here?"  
  
"We are a small advance force sent ahead to alert the fortress of the approach of the first group of evacuated citizens," one spoke up. "When we arrived, there was no one to greet us but the sounds of battle within. A teleportation spell brought us within Ralov's walls, where we found the beast and a few Vallanans battling. We joined the fray accordingly."  
  
One of the Vallanan wizards added, "Without their help we would surely have perished, sir Odin, for it was these Gannians' summoned Alexander which struck the final blow against our foe whilst we stood helpless in exhaustion."  
  
Odin nodded curtly to the wizards of the neighboring country. "Then I owe you my life as well, for it was Alexander's light which distracted Hashmalum long enough for me to triumph."  
  
* * *  
  
It was a task of but a few minutes for Odin to locate and retrieve his Gungnir from the courtyard where Quecklain had discarded it, and then he and his allies, old and new, returned to the castle walls wearily. Already the sounds of the various creatures of the dark were beginning to return after their silence during the monstrous battle, and in the distance, the lights of torches could be seen, the sound of countless hooves and feet could be heard muted by the stretch of land between it and the listeners.  
  
The first wave of Ganne's evacuated population was coming in search of safety within the protected boundaries of Vallana.  
  
But if these monsters were able to enter Ralov through its back.if they were capable of avoiding altogether, as they must have been.was there any place left in even Vallana that was safe? 


	5. Chapter 4: End of a Life

Author's Note: Yeah, after over 2 years with no update, suddenly, there's a new chapter. Many thanks to Myshu for her patient support and encouragement for me to continue this.

**GALLANT HEART: STORY OF ODIN**

CHAPTER 4 END OF A LIFE

_By The RPGenius_

"Sir Odin?"

Odin's eyes snapped open as these words cut through his slumber. The warrior arose from the cot which served as his bed to find that the warrior Thur was addressing him. Around him, other simple beds still held sleeping soldiers as the morning sunlight invaded through the windows of the room.

"Our liege and the ruler of Ganne have called for your presence, Sir Odin," Thur told the knight. Having delivered his message, the man left the small barracks.

As fast as any knight of Vallana had ever done, Odin girded himself in his armor, with his Zantetsuken faithfully at his side and his Gungnir in hand. He left the small building which served as his temporary residence and began walking the morning streets of Vallana's capital city.

It had been several months now since the disastrous victory at Ralov Fortress. Although there had been a small, hasty attack by the Zodiac beasts upon the great immigration of Gannians on their way there, it had obviously not been planned or well-considered, and the sheer weight of much of the Gannian military combined with a good force of Vallanian soldiers had forced the monsters to retreat mere minutes after they began their attack.

Since the emptying of the country of Ganne to Vallana's territories, there had been a near-constant state of war. Since the defeat of both Queklain and Hashmalum at Ralov, the demons had seemed to increase their efforts tenfold, attacking towns and villages daily and most of the time utterly destroying them before the military could reach them. Each day, more survivors of these attacks were moved to the capital city, and each day the attacks hit towns closer and closer to the heart of the Vallana kingdom. Several skirmishes with the creatures had ended only with deaths of allies. It seemed it would soon come down to an all-out combat between the brunt of the two kingdoms' military forces and the enemy demons once they reached the inner-most regions of Vallana, where the human armies could amass to defend the region without worry of leaving vital other areas unprotected.

With the enormous temporary increase of residents within the kingdom of Vallana, and in the capital in particular, housing had immediately become an infuriating dilemma. Odin had volunteered his personal living quarters to house various high officials of Ganne who needed a residence, though the warrior was not unhappy about the small, cramped building where he now spent his nights. Looking about at the streets, perpetually crowded by refugees of both countries with no other place to stay, the warrior indeed felt lucky to still have a roof over his head.

The issue of food and water was strangely not a terrible problem yet. Though the capital of course needed far more of these fuels of life to take care of its perhaps doubled population, it was keeping up with the high demand very well. For whatever reason, the monsters had so far had no interest whatever in attacking the caravans of supplies which traveled through the kingdom to Vallana.

Of course, it was far from a happy situation, as the actual distribution of victuals throughout the city was often a long, hard, and chaotic process.

And yet, Odin reflected as he strode on his path to the castle, for all the chaos and hardship that was being suffered constantly, for all the crowding and lack of space, there had been a surprising--nay, shocking--amount of cooperation between the general public of the two countries. The warrior would daresay that no one could have anticipated the amount of tolerance between the two countries' citizens shown despite their heritage of bitter feuding. There had been relatively little increase of crime, and no true riots as of yet. The consistent presence of peace-keeping soldiers patrolling the city and aiding the local police, of course, probably did a fair share of deterring unlawful ideas in the population, but it was still quite remarkable overall.

Perhaps it was the age-old tactic of uniting hostile neighbors against a common foe, with the extreme danger of the current foe off-setting the extreme hostility of the neighbors uniting. Or perhaps Odin had simply underestimated the spirit and will of the peoples of the two countries.

Whatever the case, it was not his current concern. Odin continued his journey through the streets of the city, ignoring the people on the streets as he passed them. His gait halted momentarily a few moments later, however, and his gaze unwillingly swerved to focus on a simple, non-descript house he was passing by. Demona's house.

Odin had not enjoyed that day nearly a month ago when he had been forced, by sense of honor and duty as Oth's commanding officer, to come and inform Demona that her beloved had died in one of the many skirmishes in a village at the outskirts of what was left of the kingdom. It was…an unpleasant task. Odin himself held a degree of sorrow and regret over Oth's passing, for the man had been a good warrior even despite his inability to take his knighthood seriously enough, and really the closest to a friend that Odin had ever allowed himself to have.

And, though the mighty warrior knew love to be a foolish pastime unsuitable for any true warrior, he could not help but feel sorrow for Oth's lover as she helplessly sobbed and wailed in despair. He had left her that way, having many duties to still perform that day…but he had also left because he simply did not know how to give comfort to the grieving woman, and had felt a clinging, mostly-unknown sense of discomfort at this lack of knowledge.

As the dwelling passed by his view, however, so did the memories pass by his mind, and Odin once again focused on quickly journeying to answer the king's beckon. Soon, he once more was before his king, and yet again felt the strange feeling that came of showing respect to both the ruler of Vallana and of Ganne, who sat on thrones side by side in this new mixed country.

"Odin, I have never been one for bandying words," King Idno told the warrior gravely. "A refugee from the village of Hokell arrived last night here in the capital. It seems that our beastly foes decimated the village despite the knights we'd stationed there. I have no need to tell you what a grave threat this is."

Indeed, Odin knew full well already. Hokell was a very small village, but its location was quite significant—it was by far the closest place to the Vallana capital to fall yet, and from there the monsters could conceivably carve a path to this city through but a few other towns. Granted, thus far that seemed unlikely, for these monsters followed anything but the predictable path of attack, but the danger remained.

"The refugee, however, says he was intentionally spared," King Idno went on, "in order to pass a message on to you."

"And you alone," Ganne's ruler added with a royally dignified irritation. "He is out of his mind with fear of retribution if he does not follow these beasts' instructions exactly. He'll not tell his tale even to kings."

"I would speak to him, then," Odin replied.

The refugee turned out to be a rather young man, not likely to have seen a full score of summers in his lifetime. What he had seen, however, had left a nearly witless look of terror on his face that was still present when Odin entered the small quarters afforded him for the time. By his garb, he looked to have been a merchant, or, given his age, more likely a merchant's apprentice.

"Are you Sir Odin?" he asked, without looking up.

"I am."

"They…the monsters gave me a message…for you alone." He spoke in a hollow voice, and Odin knew that much of his mind had not yet left the massacre he had witnessed. "I, I dared not disobey them…they said they would…would…"

"You are safe now," Odin told him. "Tell me their message."

"The beasts have challenged me to a duel," Odin explained to his sire and the leader of Ganne some minutes later, once the survivor had whispered his message and been escorted out. "They have familiarized themselves with some of our customs of honor, and call for me to bring a second and no other to fight a champion of theirs as they watch. It will be a private fight to the death, which they are convinced will be mine."

"And why do they ask this of you, Odin?" King Idno questioned his adopted legend.

Odin shook his head as he leaned respectfully and responded, "They say they have heard that I am Vallana's prize warrior, and the slayer of two of their own. They state no other reason than that."

"Revenge, perhaps," mused King Idno.

"Or fear," conjectured Ganne's ruler. "Armies of foes are a threat that can be calculated in war, but a single warrior who stands on equal ground to each of them is a more uncertain danger."

How strange a thing it was to hear such words casual praise from what should have been the mouth of a foe.

"Regardless of their reason," Ganne's king continued, "If they are all gathered together to watch this spectacle, this is a key moment to strike at them with our full strength, and see how they enjoy ambush!"

"Perhaps so," Idno agreed. "Warrior Odin, what are your thoughts?"

"They have warned me to tell none but my second of this agreement, and cite the warrior's code of honor to preserve the sanctity of the private duel.

Of course, what they seem not to have learned of that code," Odin continued with a hard smile, "is that one's honor rests above all upon service to his king. You have asked me to relate this information, my lord, and so that request takes precedence. I think they will be surprised by any large-scale assault."

It was decided, then, that Odin would quickly ride Sleipnir to meet his inhuman enemies in the territory, unnervingly close to his country's capital, that they had chosen for the lethal rendezvous. Even with the combined nation at a state of full military alert, it would take time to organize and dispatch a force deemed adequate to deliver a crushing blow against these few but deadly beasts. If they tired of waiting for their supposed prey, or suspected an ambush, then this chance would be lost, and at this point, that could be a fatal mistake to make.

It was a perilous mission that Odin was charged with, and he knew it. He would have to concentrate not only upon simply defeating whichever foe he was given for the duel, but also on playing for time until Vallana and Ganne's hastily-mustered military could arrive to save him. And save him they would have to, for there was no doubt in Odin's mind that should he manage to fell one opponent, these monsters would not simply allow him to go. They might send a second combatant against him, or all converge on him at once, but either way he would be doomed. Though Odin was prideful, having never been given cause not to be, he knew his limits well enough to realize that he would be in no state after vanquishing one of these monsters to survive the onslaught of another.

These thoughts on his slim chances for survival did not shake this warrior, however; on the contrary, they steadied his resolve and calmed his fear. Against this deadly a challenge, he would need to be at his best, with no lingering doubts or passions to lead his thoughts astray. His one concern was for Sleipnir…though the loyal steed had recovered with remarkable strength and determination, relearning the basics of walking with his new handicap until he could gallop as well as ever he could, this would be the first time since the terrible battle with Dorleeg that Sleipnir would be in combat, and Odin could only hope and trust that his beloved horse would be up to the task.

Soon after focusing himself, the Plains of Gragem, his destination, came into sight. The monsters seemed to simply be standing and waiting for him in a group, which, as Odin neared, he could see numbered around ten. This was, indeed, all of them, or very close to it.

It was only once Odin sat atop Sleipnir directly before them that he could take in the full magnitude of this assemblage's hideousness. Each repulsive beast which now examined him seemed a crime against Nature herself, a twisted amalgamation of parts of her creatures patched together with impossible shape and muscle. Lesser men would surely have felt great fear at the terrible visages, and the myriad ways in which they seemed to scream an unnatural existence, but all Odin felt was great disgust that these greatest of foes should be so crude, as warped without as they were within.

One, a crab-like beast a little larger than his comrades, issued a hiss from the demonic skull atop his body. "You are Odin. Where is your second?"

"I have none," Odin proclaimed. "I would not needlessly endanger a comrade's life in a matter such as this."

"Unfortunate," growled another. Odin recognized this one to be Velius, the ram-headed demon that he had encountered the night he had slain Dorleeg. "We had hoped to have a witness to your grisly demise, who would bring your pieces back to your home in warning. It will be inconvenient to have to do so myself."

"Then rejoice, worm," Odin said, readying Gungnir, "For you'll be given no such task! Are you to be my opponent today, wretch? Or is it to be another of your cowardly brethren?"

"I shall be the one to tear you to pieces," Velius confirmed. His foul-faced comrades quickly dispersed as he released a guttural chuckle, spreading out to give the two fighters a wide arena of soft earth, grass and sporadic scrubs. "I will bless you with pain known only to the imaginations of madmen, and deliver the harsh lesson of an empty death to your broken--"

Velius abruptly cut off his own speech, initiating their duel with a sudden burst of speed as he rushed to engage his enemy. But even though Velius's clever and immediate surprise attack did catch Odin off guard, the man's reflexes were faster still, and he stirred Sleipnir into a quick gallop, escaping Velius's reach and putting some distance between them.

Odin knew how this battle must be played out as he directed his steed. He would have to keep himself out Velius's reach at all costs for as long as possible, even if the monster had attack spells that he could use at a distance. Velius's body betrayed an incredible strength to Odin's eyes, looking to rival, perhaps even surpass, Hashmalum's. Odin knew from his previous battle with the latter that his own rippling sinew and well-nurtured frame, as solid and steady as steel as any man's had ever been, could be likened to that of an infant's in comparison. In addition to this unfavorable contrast in power, Velius had four arms to Odin's two, giving him another distinct advantage at close range.

Odin began his assault quickly, trying to capitalize on any loss of balance Velius might have had after his failed attack. Sleipnir turned with graceful precision and charged at the blue-skinned monster as Odin hefted his powerful Gungnir in preparation. Velius, perhaps thinking that he was faced with an all-out offensive, crossed his arms in front of himself for protection, but no such frontal attack came. Instead, Odin rode right past him, and in the passing, jabbed his spear into Velius's lower side. Velius gave a small roar of pain and turned, but Odin was already out of reach.

Though clearly painful, this first blood drawn was but a small wound, done as much for the sake of learning as offense. From the feel of how fast and far Gungnir's head had sank into the monster's flesh, Odin now had an idea of just how tough Velius's body was, and could plan his attacks accordingly. It was important knowledge to have for this stage, where careful balance of attacks' force and direction could be the determining factors in keeping a safe distance.

Again, Odin turned Sleipnir and charged his opponent. This time, Velius had a better idea of what was coming, and Odin could see his arms tensing, likely to try to grab the weapon when it came at him again. As he closed in on the ram-headed demon, Odin feinted another fast thrust. Velius fell for the false attack, instantly throwing his arms forward to vainly attempt to grasp the spear which could not yet reach him. Odin quickly retracted Gungnir, then a moment later, even as Velius's hands closed on air, had just the right proximity to make his real attack, plunging his weapon into Velius's shoulder. The force of the attack and continued momentum of its maker caused the keen edge of the powerful lance to tear straight along the side, twisting and ripping bits of flesh and muscle away as it passed through, and as Odin finished his pass and Velius roared again in pain and growing frustration, he could see the bone of Velius's shoulder through the bleeding gash.

But Odin did not urge Sleipnir any further when he passed Velius; rather, he had Sleipnir make a hard left, confusing the monster as he turned and found Odin already passing his other side. As he galloped off to prepare for another pass, Odin shot Gungnir forward for a parting bite and was rewarded with the sight of red ooze immediately seeping from a deep gash across his back shoulder. Velius turned and uttered a furious, guttural growl at the retreating horse and rider.

As Odin turned Sleipnir to prepare another run, he saw that Velius was again tensed for the coming attack, once more going to attempt to catch Gungnir as it came seeking his blood. It would be a futile effort, for, though deceptively fast, Velius's movements simply were not as swift as Odin's expertise with his chosen lance.

As Odin came upon the Velius with spear raise, however, the ram-faced beast suddenly threw his head back and unleashed an incredible roar. It was as fierce and savage a predator's call as Odin had ever imagined, so unearthly in magnitude of sound and fiendish barbarism that it seemed the land itself trembled in terror at the vocal rage. Even Odin's grip shook slightly as he fought the instinct to cover his ears. Sleipnir alone never faltered, keeping his swift pace steady. He was a truly remarkable creature, in battle almost an extension of Odin himself, and even Velius's sudden and alarming bellow, doubtless intended to panic and disorient Sleipnir as it would any normal horse in battle, could not break this oneness. Velius finished his short roar only to be bitten again by Odin's hungry weapon, this time carving a deep slash across his upper right arm.

Enraged by his scream's failure to disrupt knight and steed, Velius briefly attempted to give chase to them, but, though frighteningly fast for his grand figure, he had no hope of keeping up with a horse at full gallop. All that his vain pursuit could accomplish would be to tire him as he spent and bled energy, and to spend more time, bringing the moment that Odin's reinforcements would arrive ever closer.

After a few minutes of this foolish chase, Velius abandoned his efforts with an angry snarl. He then hunched himself a little, crossed his arms in front of him, and seemed to begin to mutter. Though not one with much experience with casting magic, Odin was no fool, and it was obvious to him that Velius must have finally given up hope of matching Vallana's greatest knight in true combat and was now readying a spell to use against him.

Well, Odin had no intention of giving him the time to finish its casting incantations. He turned Sleipnir, and began another charge, hoping to score a hit and disrupt the monster's concentration before the spell could be completed. It seemed a moment later, as he came into range and hoisted Gungnir up for another stab, that he had made it in time. He darted the spear forward--and suddenly, Velius dropped his arms and dived forward to his right, driving his own upper chest into the oncoming weapon hard. What had been planned as another glancing blow was instantly made a deep and powerful wound, but this change did more harm to Odin than Velius, for now Gungir had embedded itself within the beast's flesh and bone, and with his current speed and absolute necessity to stay out of Velius's reach, Odin could not pull the weapon free and had to abandon it as Sleipnir dutifully carried him past Velius's reach.

Once several feet away, Odin turned his horse and faced Velius. His opponent had an evil grin on his twisted features, pained but still triumphant, even as blood coursed down from where Gungnir still proudly stood planted in him. Velius believed this a great victory on his part; what would be a mortal wound to any man did not seem to seriously trouble him, and doubtless he believed Odin defenseless now.

Well, he was dearly mistaken on that assumption. At a disadvantage, perhaps, but Odin was never defenseless. The warrior reached to his side and unsheathed Zantetsuken. The cruel curved blade could serve him just as well as Gungnir had thus far; he would simply have to be thoroughly cautious to avoid Velius's attacks when getting close enough to use it.

Velius was overconfident as Odin bore down on him. Odin could see him tensing but one of his arms for an attack, doubtless deciding that one would be sufficient now that Odin had no choice but to get in range of it to make his own attack. The two opponents met, Velius shot his fist out straight at Sleipnir's neck--and Odin brought his blade down in a perfectly-executed Zantetsuken strike. Flesh, muscle, bone, all were shorn as though they were naught but air, and as Odin finished the attack and passed his foe by, Velius howled in fury and retracted only half of his upper left arm.

Once a few feet had been placed between himself and Velius, Odin turned Sleipnir once more to prepare for another run. This time, he would have to do his best to attack from Velius's left once more, since that side was now far less able to pose a threat. Velius would, of course, realize this, and strive to keep Odin to his right, instead. Still, with the speed and skill of Sleipnir on his side, Odin would likely have the advantage in such maneuvering.

Surprisingly, as Odin began to ride at Velius once more, the monster did nothing to keep Odin from approaching to his left. Odin readied himself for a surprise attack…and a moment later, it came. Velius suddenly grabbed the shaft of Gungnir and ripped it out of himself. Even as Odin tried to turn Sleipnir aside to retreat, Velius hefted the spear and hurled it. Horse and rider had no time to escape, and Gungnir flew straight into Sleipnir's flank, thrown so strongly that the spear's head emerged from the horse's other side. With a horrific shriek of pain and terror, Sleipnir pitched forward, his velocity making his great body slam to the ground as Odin fell hard on his back a few feet away.

An evil peal of laughter and agonized whinnies resounded through Odin's ears as he rose and crawled to his horse. Sleipnir rolled his eyes in panic and brutal pain as Odin looked on what he knew was a fatal wound. Sleipnir was too injured, bleeding too profusely for any medical salvation this time. Odin knew what must be done now. Even as his heart screamed in anguish, the warrior whispered soothingly to his one friend and companion, stroking Sleipnir's hair with a delicacy so foreign to such a rough and hardened hand as he softly thanked the horse for his years of friendship, loyalty, and courage. He then murmured his love for Sleipnir, and the horse became a little calmer for the soothing words, and Odin's eyes blessed him with a single tear each. It was as they moistened Sleipnir's muzzle that Odin took his Zantetsuken and ended his suffering.

Odin finished his horrible task of mercy and stood just as Velius came upon him. With a snarl so full of rage it would have done his opponent proud, Odin lunged forward and slashed Velius's body with as much force as he could, cutting a long line across his already bloody chest. Odin raised his sword for another attack, but Velius shot his remaining left hand out to grab hold of the clenched fist that held the sword, and then squeezed viciously.

Odin could hear and feel his hand's bones being crushed, but his hate and the adrenaline of combat focused him only on defeating his enemy. With a grunt, he drew back his free hand, curled his dense fingers into a fist, and slammed it into the bloody hole that Gungnir had left in Velius with every ounce of power that his trained muscles could muster. A pained gasp escaped the monster as Odin felt his knuckles pound against nearly exposed bone, and Velius released his grip on Odin and took a step back.

Odin's right hand was ruined, throbbing in compressed agony as Zantetsuken slid uselessly from it. The knight knew that even attempting to move it would likely cause such searing pain as to cut through his concentrated fury, so he instead bent over and picked up his sword with his good hand. With it in hand, he again pressed the attack against Velius. The monster tried to grab the man with his three limbs, but Odin simply side-stepped them, and brought his blade down into the one nearest to him, the upper right arm. Without the speed and high attack angle from riding on horseback, nor the use of his more favored right arm's power, Odin could not perform another Zantetsuken attack, so this time the sword sank only as far as the bone. But Odin was relentless, and even as Velius tried to step back to gain a better position to attack from, Odin swept his sword down again and completed the job. Velius shrieked as another of his limbs was made to end in a gory, bleeding stump.

Still Odin pressed the attack, hoping to keep Velius from having the time to counter. He this time brought his sword up for a strike against the heavy wound in the monster's chest, but as he swung Zantetsuken down, Velius quickly brought his remaining right hand up to block it with its palm. The sword sank deep into the hand, but the pain it caused did not stop Velius from closing his hands around it. He yanked at it, and though Odin's grip on the weapon was as a steel vice, the beast's strength was too far greater. Zantetsuken was flung up and away, landing on the ground many yards off.

Odin knew he could not face this monster without a weapon, and Gungnir was far too deeply embedded in Sleipnir's corpse to remove with only one hand to spare for the task. He would have to get to Zantetsuken somehow.

Hoping to throw Velius off once more using the same tactic as before, Odin threw a powerful punch at the same chest wound; however, Velius swatted the outstretched arm away quickly, throwing Odin off his balance.

Taking advantage of his enemy's momentary loss of sturdy stance, Velius threw a punch of his own, slamming his colossal fist into Odin's chest. The force of the blow was incredible; Odin was thrown a few inches through the air to land on his back, completely winded and certain several ribs of his had been cracked. Even still, the warrior kept enough stamina as he gasped for air to roll aside as Velius tried to stomp his head flat. Odin struggled up to his feet, gasping and wincing. His concentration was broken, and his strength was ebbing as tremendous pain began to sweep through him from his destroyed hand. His sword. He needed to get to Zantetsuken.

But Velius was not intent to give Odin enough time to get it. Odin managed to dodge another punch, and threw one back, driving his fist against the monster's face as hard as he could while still trying to catch his breath. In response, Velius swept his arm and backhanded Odin away.

Odin had never before known that the expression had been literal as stars exploded in his vision. He had landed on his right side, and his hand was screaming in protest, as his head throbbed from the last blow and his chest ached from before. Before he could struggle to pick himself up once more, Odin felt himself roughly grabbed and lifted up. Velius hoisted Odin above himself, but before he could act further, Odin reached down and pounded his hand against the chest wound from before. Velius howled yet again in pain, and threw Odin hard down to the ground.

Again the air was driven from Odin's lungs as he landed face-down. Almost before he'd had a chance feel the pain of it, Velius brought his fist down brutally against Odin's spine, battering the warrior further. The monster followed it up with a vicious kick to his side, sending Odin tumbling a few feet away to lie on his back. His world a cacophony of pain, Odin could not even muster the strength to try to stand before Velius was upon him again, bringing the palm of his hand down forcefully against Odin's bruised and beaten form and breaking more ribs. Another kick sent Odin tumbling again, this time stopping as he struck an object.

Coughing up blood, Odin turned his neck and saw that he had this time been flung against Sleipnir's fallen form. The sight of his dead horse filled Odin with rage once more, and gave him focused sight through the haze of pain. Living through this encounter was no longer on Odin's mind. All hope for reinforcements was forgotten at this point; all that the man knew now was a single goal: to kill Velius. This primal instinct of combat pushed all other concerns from his mind.

He could not reach Zantetsuken. He could not free Gungnir. But there was one avenue left. Using his functioning arm, Odin fumbled with the straps of one of the small sacks of tools and provisions that Sleipnir had carried. All knights' horses carried them--small survival kits, should a knight find himself alone and far from a friendly camp, that contained a days' worth of rations, flint, and other useful objects, including…a hunting knife. A tool meant for skinning, for everyday use in cutting, never for combat. Yet to a desperate, dying man whose monstrous foe approached behind him with heavy steps, this small tool was a beautiful, shining weapon with no equal.

He would make one final attack, Odin decided as he gripped the knife tightly. Get up, and plunge the knife into the beast's heart. Surely the blade could reach it, even in so broad a chest. A killing blow, so that Odin and Sleipnir would not be the only ones to die.

Velius was behind him now. Odin could hear his heavy breath, could smell his rank stench, could feel droplets of the monster's thick blood falling from several wounds onto him. Now was the moment. Odin rose to his feet as quickly as he could, turned, and made his attack, putting every remaining bit of power he had into the thrust.

But Velius lifted his arm to guard against it, and the knife sank into the limb instead. Then Velius grabbed Odin's neck in his hand. He brought his face to Odin's, and spoke. "Now you die, mortal."

And then, Velius tightened his grip, and Odin was no more.


	6. Chapter 5: To See Beyond the Sky

_Disclaimer_: Same as ever, folks. I don't own the stuff, I sure as hell don't profit off it, and because of these two conditions, I'm not expecting to be sued.

**Gallant Heart: Story of Odin**

Chapter 5

To say it was a bizarre sensation would not truly do it justice. One moment, Odin's senses had been enveloped in pain and grim certainty of death. Then, the next moment, all was quiet, and he was aware of nothing but darkness, black that he could see nothing through and silence he could hear nothing in. But the important part of this was that he was aware at all, and he knew he should not be. Though the time between the fatal battlefield and this enwrapping emptiness had passed for him in the blink of an eye, he still could feel that time had marched on between these two moments, as though he had been in deep sleep between them. Or rather, as though he had been dead between them, for this seemed far likelier.

And then, as suddenly as Odin's passing from his life's finale to this darkness, an old man was before him. The elder rose tall with a prideful strength, showing neither the faintest slouch nor frailty that age often brings. And as he stood there, holding a long staff in one fist and stroking an impressive beard that fell nearly to his knees with his other hand, he fixed a fearsome gaze upon Odin, like that of an angry falcon's. Many other men might have flinched under its scrutiny.

Its only effect on Odin, however, was to remind him of its owner's identity.

"Ramuh," Odin spoke, recalling the night not long past when he had first met this entity's glare.

"Indeed," came a voice of great power mixed with surprising warmth and grandfatherly compassion. "To the mortals, I am Ramuh, he who forges the bridge which joins the earth and heavens, splitting the sky with light and the courage of men with sound. And to the Summoned, I am Ramuh, he who shares words with mortals, the mediator."

"And I am Odin, hailed the greatest warrior to live in a land renowned for such men. Make your purpose known to me, Ramuh."

"You seem terribly impatient for one who is dead," the god of lightning observed, frowning. "My purpose, for which I have halted your soul's transcendence, which you seem to think more an inconvenience to you than I, is twofold. The first is to share my knowledge with you on the events that have lead to your demise."

Odin could not deny an interest in this. "Go on."

The elderly spirit continued to stroke his beard slowly as he spoke. "There are worlds beyond your own, Odin, a universe with so many of them as to defy your ability to imagine the number--so many as to defy even the imagination of a being on a higher plane of existence such as myself. The astronomers of your world had grasped the very beginnings of their silence, I believe, and at least had made known to your world basic ideas of space, stars, planets, and orbits, yes?"

"I cannot say," Odin replied, interest waning as the subject turned from the fate of he and his kingdom to sciences indistinguishable to him from fairy tales and myths. "My focus has been always on the study of battle."

"I see," Ramuh replied thoughtfully, his hand ceasing its stroking motion momentarily. "Well, considering the circumstances which have led to this conversation, I should not be surprised. I am not much more a scientist than you, so explaining this through words will likely be a futile gesture. But perhaps a visual example…"

And suddenly, Odin was no longer in darkness. He stood with feet planted to a solid surface, seeing bright light from a clear day's sun. But as his eyes adjusted to the stark difference and began to make out the details of this landscape, the warrior almost wished that he had remained in the darkness. The patch of grass and dirt on which he stood was one of the few of the field he occupied that could be seen, for the lifeless bodies of men and their horses were strewn about for nearly as far as Odin's hard eye could view. Though he had seen his share of battlefields in his life, it was never an easy spectacle to take in. Though he was a masterful merchant in the trade of life and death, this did not make human life a cheap commodity to Odin.

He did not have much time to observe this setting, though, for he and Ramuh began to rise above the land, slowly at first, and then increasing in speed. His last glance at the place where he had stood, however, provided him an image that would occupy his thoughts for the next minute, even as he could have born witness to a perspective that none but birds of his world had ever before possessed: the sight of the bloody and broken bodies of both he and Sleipnir. He had known he must be dead, but this was what made the knowledge real.

Even this distracting realization, however, could not keep his attention for long as Odin realized that he could now see the entire continent that his home kingdom claimed its own. And his ascent had not slowed, and did not slow until his world enveloped most of his vision…most, but not all. He could see a strange darkness beyond its smooth edges, dotted with points of light yet dark as any black iron Odin had ever seen.

"This, Odin," Odin's amply-bearded companion beside him said, "is your world, larger than many others, smaller than many more. Now, turn."

Odin did not know how he obeyed Ramuh's order, only that he did, and then beheld…nothing, and everything. What he had glanced around his planet's borders suddenly assaulted him from all sides, an impossibly bright blackness made infinite by the tiniest landmarks of light. No starlit night could ever prepare a man's mind for such an intensely surreal confrontation with the universe's reality, and for a moment his mind felt as though it was drowning in the sight.

Ramuh was considerate enough to give his charge a few moments to adjust enough to communicate before telling him, "This, Odin, is what lies beyond the atmosphere curtains over small planets such as Spillara. Come, we have much to see."

And Ramuh and Odin traveled much of that galaxy then, and Odin saw far beyond anything he had ever been destined to.

He saw empty planets, impossibly huge hunks of matter, void of life totally, and was told that this was by far the most common world to be found throughout the reaches of space.

He saw a world of life, a little similar to his own, and watched a few members of its sentient species, the Cetra, attach sharpened rocks to wooden handles to form hunting weapons, and was told that this world, like his own, had formed life on its own accord, from humble beginnings of water and minerals, and that this natural creation of life was perhaps the most rare miracle of the universe.

He saw another world of simple life, pleasant and peaceful, where the rise of plants and animals owed its thanks to four shards of crystal that gathered the world into existence to begin with, and then nurtured its life forms, and was told that these shining shards of unimaginable power were mere specks separated from one original crystal during the beginning of the universe, and that this kind of world was perhaps the most common form of the rarity that was life.

He saw from a distance a few moments of the creation of one more planet, this time being formed as the result of a strange battle between a sword and shield, each larger than most towns of Vallana and Ganne's, each made of the same crystal that could, with four small shards, maintain an entire world on its own, and was told that many worlds of life were formed as a result of the whims of deities and magic. When Odin asked how it was that a sword and shield could act without a master, Ramuh admitted that he did not know--there was much in the universe beyond his or his peers' ken. Perhaps whatever elder god had forged the two had intended them to be this way.

He saw a cosmic horror floating in a patch of space where no starlight had yet reached, only visible thanks to a lightning storm Ramuh formed on its surface…a rock the size of Vallana's capital, saturated with a dark energy that reminded the warrior of the beasts he had died fighting, and was told that just as there were hundreds of these Meteors scattered throughout this galaxy, so too were there hundreds of magical, black orbs likewise scattered on worlds that could call them.

He saw a world not of life, not of life's nonexistence, but rather a world of death, a world where nearly all life had once thrived until it was wiped out in a few hours by an enormous invader, first coming from the stars and then from the ground, and was told that there were many individual threats to planets' life in the universe, be they simple unthinking animals like this spiny destroyer or deliberate killers.

He was shown stars, moons, voids, asteroids, travelers crossing the reaches of space…and when it was done, Odin again stood where he had before, on the battlefield where he, and apparently hundreds more soon after, had died.

"You have seen but tiny examples of what this galaxy, and the universe it resides in, has scattered throughout it," Ramuh spoke. "There are many beings throughout it who aspire to such evils as forceful control and wanton destruction on all levels, and many more still who stand against these tyrants and destroyers wherever and whenever they act. But there is one entity who seeks to take control of all creation, an incorporeal being which seems to be the very essence of darkness and evil intentions. He is known on many worlds in many ways, but our lord Bahamut has named this menace Lucavi."

"How does this involve me, or my country?" Odin asked. Though his mind still swam with the incredible images of the brief glimpse of the universe he had been shown, the grisly sight around him grounded him strongly to his personal concerns.

"Patience," Ramuh commanded with a quiet force, like thunder from a distance. "Lucavi himself has no form of his own in this dimension, though, so he must act through others to achieve his goals. Thus has he created his thirteen Zodiac Monsters. They are to be his shock troops, his generals, immensely powerful avatars of his destructive whim and will. These are the beasts that you have battled and died against, Odin. Your world, one frequently home to battles between nations of seasoned warriors, has been assaulted by these Zodiac Monsters because Lucavi believed it would be an excellent testing ground for his new creations.

"This battlefield," the elder god of storms said, motioning to the expanse of slaughter before Odin and himself, "is all that remains of the great force that Vallana and Ganne's kings sent to ambush the monsters that you kept distracted with your last battle. For you see, these servants of Lucavi were created with the intention to work together, so as fearsomely powerful as each Zodiac Monster is on his own, he is many times more formidable when fighting alongside one of his own. Attacking those creatures gathered here to witness your fall with any army ever yet seen would be suicidal.

"And now," Ramuh concluded, "they are wreaking destruction in your capital."

The scene around Odin and his guide shifted. Ramuh and he stood high in the air now, overlooking the great expanse of Vallana's capital…what little could be seen through a hellish haze of black smoke rising from a raging inferno devouring the city. There were screams of terror and pain, children's wails going unanswered, and an occasional impassioned plea for mercy heard by all but the intended listener, all of it muted by the deafening roar of the flames consuming everything they touched. Occasionally the ground could be heard to rumble violently, or a large explosion of unnatural fire or lightning would be seen even through the thick, rising aerial sea of burning fog as a powerfully destructive spell, doubtless cast by one of the Zodiac Monsters, added to the chaos.

Horror does not have to be seen to impress itself on one's mind forever after. The heat and noise told the story of what was happening as well as any vision not obscured could have.

"There are no soldiers left, be they born of Vallana or Ganne," Ramuh mentioned with a grave, but largely detached tone. "Most lie as still as their respective king. The rest have flown, rightfully fearing for their lives, and left the defenseless they were meant to protect to the flames and animal cruelties of the beasts.

There will be no true escape, though. The Zodiac Monsters will move from one nation to the next, destroying all they can, for there are no countries left of size or power comparable to yours or Ganne's to stand against them significantly. They shall raze villages, demolish cities, break capitals, and follow fugitives to the next country's border. They shall start fires that sweep across continents, devouring forests, plains, and fields for harvest. Coasts will be devoured as they bring barrages of tidal waves against the lands across the globe. The ground itself will yield to their command and split madly. From the catastrophic number of dead shall spring plagues, as effective a way to hunt down and kill survivors as the beasts doing so themselves.

"Your world of Spillara," Ramuh concluded, turning to look Odin in the eyes, "will be reduced to a wasteland shell. It will be a campaign that will take years, and perhaps even one or two of the Zodiac Beasts shall be killed and forced back to the Hell from whence they came. But it will be deemed a success to Lucavi, and once his thirteen harbingers of doom have had time to recover from their exhaustion and, for some of them, demise, Lucavi shall select a world of true significance to him, and attempt to repeat the process."

Odin's mouth was dry, and his heart was chilled beyond warming by the inferno-like air around him. There was a dead certainty in Ramuh's speech, and even if he were mistaken and the monsters were eventually stopped elsewhere on Spillara, it would be little comfort to the man. Though Odin had known and loved fewer things than many men in his life, those few he did love he loved more than most could. But now…King Idno, as much a father figure as any man could be to Odin, and his reason for existence as a knight of Vallana's code, was dead. Sleipnir, gone on the battlefield. And Vallana, the proud kingdom that Odin would and did die to protect, was headless and shattered at the core.

"What…" His mouth was dry, and his throat hoarse from as his voice struggled against its constrictions. "What do you want from me, Ramuh? For what reason do you show me all of this?"

"There are three others like me," Ramuh replied seriously. "One is our great deity, king of dragons, and it is his will that we all shall follow. One is the great sea serpent, to be our king, to govern and lead us in all matters that the master of dragons does not deem worthy of his attention. And the last is a mysterious entity, a living machine which exists to be Lucavi's bane, the most powerful by far, which communes only with the dragon lord himself. They are Bahamut, Leviathan, and Alexander, and together, we seek to oversee and protect our universe, particularly against Lucavi. Though we cannot attack him outright, we are committed to bringing about his end.

"I have come to you, Sir Odin, because you have been born with a warrior's instinct unlike any mortal before. You have a potential for battle so great, it perhaps has no limit. There is no mortal being that we have encountered throughout the cosmos possessing a lifespan that you could reach your peak during."

The scene around Odin changed once more, and he found that they were back in the darkness where they had started.

"And so, Odin," Ramuh spoke, "I come bearing an invitation from King Leviathan. An invitation…to join us. Become one of the Summoned, and hone your skills for eternity as our warrior champion."

Odin could have asked what would happen were he to refuse the offer. He could have protested, given that the likely alternative was to let death take him completely, that it was not a fair choice to thrust on him.

But he didn't. There was no reason to. So long as he could have another chance of any kind to stand against these thirteen Zodiac Monsters and their creator, Odin knew he could do nothing less than accept.

"I must have my weapons, Gungnir and Zantetsuken," Odin said.

"You shall have them," Ramuh agreed.

"And I must have my mount, Sleipnir," Odin continued.

Ramuh hesitated, as though listening intently to something. After a moment, he nodded, and said, "Done. Leviathan has agreed to allow you this boon."

And so, with weapons and battle companion promised to him, Odin accepted, swore a new oath of servitude to Bahamut, and became a warrior guardian to all creation.

Simon's Notes: And so ends the first of this tale's three parts. I am too tired now to comment on the spectacular nature of the visions that Ramuh showed Odin, and Princess Ovelia worries for my health often when I stay up translating too far into the night. Even Agrias is growing concerned by my attention to this translation and that of the Germonik Scriptures. I retire now, and shall start transcribing the second part of Odin's tale tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 6: To Be Beyond the Sky

_Disclaimer_: We've already established that I don't own anything and thus don't profit off of writing this, yes? Good.

**Gallant Heart: Story of Odin**

Chapter 6: To Be Beyond the Sky

Odin was not pleased by the creature that stood nervously before him and his peers.

It was small, to start with, even for its race. Against most men, its eyes would be on the level of their knees. Against Odin, further down still from that. Even considering the small, red ball of fluff that stood atop an antenna on its head, the creature's height didn't match that of a regular man's torso. Its frame was pudgy, naked in the sense that the creature lacked clothing, and clothed in the sense that he had a fine coat of white fur from head to toe. Bat-like wings could just barely be seen poking out from its back past its sides, so small that they looked totally ineffectual for the purpose of flying. It was a cute creature.

Odin did not care for cute things.

He would not usually have held such a trait against this creature, of course. Moogles just naturally were. What really displeased Odin was that this cute creature was here at all, accompanied by Ramuh and standing in the presence of Odin and the other twelve warriors who made up the Knights of the Round Council. It could only mean one thing.

"A newcomer, Ramuh?" Odin asked from the high central seat, attempting not to let his disapproval tinge his voice.

"Indeed," Ramuh responded to his comrade of old. "This is Mogri. He has accepted an invitation made by Leviathan to join us."

Mogri was not the first moogle to be inducted into the growing brethren of the Summoned. In the millennia since Odin had become the fifth member of the Summoned, a couple of moogles had been allowed to join what was now a small town crafted in a higher dimensional plane, populated by nearly a hundred Summoned. Leviathan, Bahamut, and Alexander's wills on who was allowed to join, who would be ultimately necessary in their long, passive war with Lucavi, were none of Odin's concern, of course, but he nonetheless had moments in which he could not fathom why these small and overly useless creatures were here.

"And you are giving him the usual tour of our Land of the Summoned," Odin guessed with slight impatience. "Proceed."

Ramuh nodded, doubtless knowing from long experience with the former man that Odin wanted this done with as quickly as possible. He gestured around at the grand chamber he and the moogle stood in the center of. "This is the Knights of the Round Council's room. The honorable Odin, one of the eldest members of the Summoned, resides as the leader of these thirteen members, whom he has selected himself as the greatest of all warriors. They are the honor guard of the Summoned, powerful guardians even by our own standards."

The moogle Mogri looked about at the thirteen warriors that Odin had taken millennia to fully assemble with an appropriately impressed, respectful, awed, and fearful expression. Each member of this group of born combatants who sat at high stone desks in a circle around the room had been a monument to power and skill in life, be it with sword, axe, mace, battle rod, or any of a number of other tools of war. The immortality granted them by their contract with Bahamut, Leviathan, and Alexander had only given them the time to become greater warriors still, and it could be seen and felt--particularly of Odin, still strongest of all.

Ramuh continued to speak as his humble charge gazed. "Although I have told you that any of us who reside within this realm may be called at any time by a Summoner to the field of battle, there have been few so far with the immense skill necessary to summon this body to combat as a whole--and each of these rarely talented Summoners has been one of the Cetra. In addition to being our protector, the council will also serve whatever judicial functions we have need for."

"Judicial functions, kupo?" issued the small and squeaky voice characteristic of moogles from Mogri. "What do the Summoned need those for? Do we have criminals?"

Before Ramuh could respond, Odin answered. "Not as such that mortals would conceive. There have been, however, a very few cases in which a member of the Summoned has practiced certain…indiscretions which must be dealt with and punished."

"S…Such as?" the moogle inquired, voice quavering slightly at the resounding, commanding power of Odin's tone. Still, to have the courage to speak directly to the founder of the council at all required more character than he would have given the small being credit for.

"There was once a member of this very council," Odin told Mogri, "who was perhaps the greatest swordsman of the katana that has yet lived, on an equal level of battle ability with at least a few of this council's current members. His name was Yojimbo. He had been a mercenary in life, quite greedy, though worth any price. I had thought that this was a trait that he would not carry on with him as a Summon, as there is no use for money here, but I was mistaken. As a Summon, his greed was only enhanced--he began to demand fees from those who called him before he would act in their behalf, reveling in accumulating hundreds of worlds' different kinds of wealth. It was…conduct unbecoming of one of the Summoned. The rest of us tried him, and punished him with expulsion from this council, and disgrace amongst the Summoned. He still resides here, but as a social outcast, shunned by all. He is doomed to an immortality of being hated by those around him, with no companion beyond his dog Daigoro."

What Odin neglected to relate in this tale was that this incident had also been the first case of one of the Summoned taking arms against another--enraged by the verdict, Yojimbo had attacked Odin. Odin had, of course, had little difficulty in besting the man, his blade and skills with it being far superior, and his newly-devised Gunge Lance technique had been enough to subdue Daigoro. It was still an unsettling case of betrayal, however, and it was a private guilt to Odin that his original decision to extend the invitation of being a Summoned to Yojimbo had led to this.

"Such cases of indiscretion by one of us are rare," Ramuh commented, "but regardless, take heed to act well, little Mogri, lest you wish to earn Odin's enmity and a terrible afterlife here."

Mogri nodded, and Ramuh announced that they would be moving on. As they turned to go, however, another figure entered the chamber. He was vividly attired, most noticeably in his bright red cape and hood, but the trait of this humanoid Summoned which garnered the most initial attention was his set of four arms.

"Gilgamesh," Odin greeted him, far more pleased with this guest than the last.

"Hey there, Odin, Ramuh, council, fuzz-ball I've never seen before," Gilgamesh replied. "Leviathan's gathering a bunch of us together in his chambers. Something big's happening. He's asked me to bring you to him, Odin. And Ramuh, he wants you, too--as soon as you're done with the moogle, go straight there."

Ramuh nodded, then turned and left with Mogri.

"What does Leviathan want with me?" Odin asked. The king of the Summoned did not call his subjects before him for idle chatter.

Gilgamesh shrugged. "I don't know. You'll find out soon enough anyway. Come on."

-----

Simon's Notes: I find it interesting that I can recognize several of these Summoned, such as Ramuh, Mogri, Bahamut, and obviously Odin, but there are so many more mentioned which I have never heard of previously--and upon consulting with a few other texts and a friend who is a scholar on Summoning magic, it seems that there is no official knowledge in Ivalice of them. Did the author of this tale simply invent them, or is this the historical text it reads as, and our magic-users have discovered but a few of the other-worldly beings available to be called forth? I must continue to translate this tale, if for not other reason than that it very well may provide a step to the advancement of the knowledge and art of Summoning in our lands.


	8. Chapter 7: Renewed Purpose

_Disclaimer_: I do not own stuff. I do not profit from writing about this alleged stuff. Please do not sue me and take my stuff.

_Author's Note_: Yeah, so, I decided in the middle of this story to change the title from Gallant Heart: Story of Odin to Tales of the Summoned: Odin, in the hopes that I might make some more some time once Odin's finally done with. However, I'm way, way too lazy to actually go and change all the previous chapters' titles around, so…deal with it.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

Chapter 7: Renewed Purpose

Gilgamesh was an oddity in the Land of the Summoned. Visually, of course, he stood out for his four arms--and Odin knew that the hooded man had at least two more that he usually somehow kept totally out of sight. This was not, from what Odin could tell, a trait of any particular humanoid species that Gilgamesh belonged to. He was simply a unique entity, as many of the Summoned tended to be.

Odder still than his appearance, however, was his connection with Odin. The leader of the Knights of the Round Council had taken an interest in Gilgamesh as a warrior of much skill and greater potential, observing him while Gilgamesh had lived the life of a simple lackey for an arrogant but largely unimpressive tyrant. After he had made a fatal sacrifice to help former enemies of his, in his typical strange and even whimsical fashion, Odin had approached his soul before it could make its journey to whatever world beyond this universe would claim it, offering Gilgamesh a seat on his council. Gilgamesh had reasoned aloud that he hadn't much else planned to do with himself, and accepted.

The fact that Odin would hold any interest in a man with a fairly flippant personality, regardless of his impressive combat skill, was a factor in why Gilgamesh was an oddity, but even stranger was the fact that he had only chosen to stay on the Knights of the Round Council for two years before asking to resign. Even by the lifespan of most mortals, that was a paltry amount of time, and while the council had, over the centuries, occasionally had some members leave to become regular Summoned simply due to Odin choosing even greater warriors to replace them (as well as Yojimbo's forced removal), it had been the first case ever of one of the council actively requesting to leave. Whenever questioned about his reasons, Gilgamesh would only shrug and tell the inquirer that it had been a very boring job.

Strangest by far, however, was the fact that Odin, even after having Gilgamesh basically snub his generous offer in order to pursue an afterlife of more excitement, conduct unbecoming of the ideal warrior that Odin perpetually strived to be, still could not help but like the multi-armed man. He could not himself fathom why. Perhaps he simply appreciated a slight contrast to himself, after millennia of having a few Summoned friends (of a sort) who were as serious and driven in nature as he was.

So it was that the silence that he and Gilgamesh held as they strode through the streets of the city of the Summoned to Leviathan's palace was friendly, and not simply the uncomfortable kind that most would hold with Odin.

It was broken, however, after several minutes by Gilgamesh amiably remarking, "Give me your sword."

Here was the one part of Gilgamesh's behavior that did irritate Odin as much as one would suspect. "No."

"I want it."

Gilgamesh had, shortly after his resignation from the generous and honored position that he had been brought to this plane to fill, decided to use his newfound longevity and spiritual access to worlds across the galaxy to collect the greatest, most legendary swords in creation. He had by now obtained the awesome Masamune from one planet, and the even far more impressive Excalibur from another. Strangely, he also kept a weapon of his own world known as Excalipoor, a farce of a tool designed to mimic the incredible Excalibur visually. Odin had once asked why he would keep such a worthless blade amongst a planned collection of swords of unparalleled caliber. Gilgamesh had simply responded that it had sentimental value, a concept foreign enough to Odin that he did not press the issue further.

The sword that the hooded warrior had set his eyes upon next, however, was Odin's own Zantetsuken.

"Zantetsuken is mine, Gilgamesh. I will not relinquish it. Cease troubling me for it."

"But why do you need it?" In life or after, Gilgamesh had never known quite when to give up. "You've devoted centuries of training to nearly every known weapon of history. You fence with a rapier like no other. Your marksmanship with any bow is unrivalled. You know the secrets of how to fight near and far with Gungnir, or any other spear. There is no one who swings an axe with the power and grace that you do. No mortal lives who is a faster or surer shot with firearms, be they firing physical missiles, energy, sound, anything. Even with claws, knuckles, gloves, or simply lacking a weapon at all, you are unmatched. To sum it all up and drop the stiff-talk, you're the man. You can use any weapon. You don't NEED Zantetsuken!"

One thing that Odin had not spent his time training was his temper, which he was soon going to lose. "After Gungnir, it is my weapon of choice. I am only marginally skilled with any other weapons by comparison, and only with it can I perform my best techniques. I will not part with it, and your persistent sniveling for it is beginning to anger me."

Gilgamesh sighed in disappointment, but said no more.

It was just as well anyway, for they had arrived at Leviathan's beautiful coral palace. The soft rainbow material had been carved to form a low but long building with large, angled pillars and wide doorways with curtains of sea-green, preserved scales of mermaids draped over them in place of doors. The coral, so smooth that it could, with different coloring, pass as marble, also had many grooves and canals carved into its walls and floors, through which constantly ran pure and sparkling water.

It was all a bit showy for Odin, who preferred the more traditional grandeur of his council's hall, or even better, the starkly functional simplicity of the small home and stables that he and Sleipnir resided in respectively. Odin and Gilgamesh entered, and were shown to the throne room.

Given that Leviathan could be counted on to personally meet each of the Summoned at least once, his throne room was massively large by necessity, and had no ceiling. This was a fortunate quality, for it was now filled with dozens of the Summoned. They ranged from relatively new members, such as the fierce Fenrir and the hideous Shoat, to others so old as to almost rival Odin--Ifrit sat impatiently growling in a corner, while Siren enjoyed the cool water of one small rivulet running through the floor while she and Shiva happily conversed as usual.

For his part, Odin moved to stand further down the same rivulet as Shiva and Siren. He then stuck Gungnir into the flowing water, piercing the coral beneath just enough to allow him to lean upon his spear in the Vallanan tradition of showing respect for one's sovereign. Though his world had been made lifeless by the Zodiac Monsters thousands upon thousands of years before, it was important to Odin to still keep its traditions of warriors and honor alive. Gilgamesh did not follow his companion, instead opting to sit near Carbuncle.

It was not a long wait, only that of a few minutes, before Ramuh, apparently the last of those to be assembled there, arrived and took his place amongst his brethren. From the throne in which Leviathan lay coiled came a commanding hiss, and the gentle conversation of those gathered ceased. The King of the Summoned and master of all oceans slowly rose before them, a towering and majestic display of tamed ferocity and power. Beside him, Ashura, queen with nearly as many faces as Gilgamesh had arms, spoke without rising from her own seat.

"Welcome, esteemed members of the Summoned. Thank you for coming here with haste, and on short notice. My husband has news for you."

The great sea serpent gave a slight nod to his wife, and then spoke to his subjects. "Alexander has shared a vision of his with the great Bahamut…a vision of a world with a tremendously strong field of magic, emanating from three objects of deity-like power and resonating in magically-based beings connected with the objects, beings known as Espers. The magical energy is enhanced tenfold by the sheer number of Espers in the world, enriching and even saturating the world with magical potential beyond any other known world.

"In Alexander's vision, Lucavi puts aside his obsession with the seven kingdoms of Ivalice in order to make full war with this world, expending his energy and resources like never before to conquer it and make it his. But against a world even only sparsely populated by beings so connected to and skilled with manipulating an abundance of magic as the Espers, even Lucavi's forces could be defeated. And it is our lord Bahamut's belief that it could even be possible in such a setting to forcefully rip Lucavi from Hell, to take on physical form…which could, in turn, be killed."

There were a few murmurs of surprise from those before Leviathan. Although most of the Summoned did not have the same kind of personal grudge against Lucavi that Odin still held from his first life, the binding purpose of helping to protect their small part of the universe that all of the Summoned had in common meant that they were well aware of Lucavi and the need to stop his destructive ambitions. But none had yet conceived a way for the Summoned to directly confront their elusive foe, for Lucavi hid like a coward in his domain beyond the reach of even spiritual beings. That there could be a way to summon him forth into the physical world would mean…

Leviathan resumed once the few hushed voices ceased, "Because of their nature, Espers already possess bodies uncommonly similar to these ethereal forms this domain grants our souls. It is therefore possible to transfer our consciousnesses, our spirits, into an Esper body to reside in the physical domain, as no Shade can allow."

Shades were common phenomena in the many scattered worlds throughout space that held an average level of magic within them. These strange occurrences, born of fluctuations in magic that no magical scholar yet observed had been able to explain (few even could perceive them at all), created physical replicas of the Summoned within that world, doppelgangers who, while usually possessing only a fraction of the power and skill of the true Summoned, often mirrored the original's abilities and personality. Some were even real enough beings that they could be killed. The true Summoned, Ramuh in particular, could sometimes take advantage of these spiritually empty clones through temporary possession, allowing for more direct communications with mortals (Summoners in particular) and interactions with that clone's surroundings.

"It would, in a sense, be a second life for those of us who do so, making the shell of an essence left here into a shade itself, awaiting our return. What is important, however, is that we, the Summoned, could confront Lucavi directly, at long last. And not only that, but with hundreds, perhaps even thousands of other genuine Espers at our side," Leviathan finished.

Now Queen Ashura rose, and her husband lowered himself to coil up in his throne once more. With her face of Good Fortune prominently displayed to her subjects, she spoke. "This is, however, but a vision of Alexander's, and not a certainty. There is a war being waged on this planet now between these Espers and human beings, which will ultimately decide which species will survive. It is Bahamut's will that you who have been called here shall be the first of the Summoned to be reborn as Espers, and together under Bahamut's guidance, you shall influence the war's events and outcome as necessary to make possible Alexander's vision."

And so it was that the first true chance for the Summoned to end Lucavi's threat was begun. Ashura dismissed them all, instructing them to rest for a time and prepare themselves for their reincarnation. Before he could follow the rest to the exit, Odin heard his name called by his king. He quickly made his way to king Leviathan. Once he reached the throne, he once again paid a proper Vallanan respect to his liege.

"Odin," Leviathan said, his voice this close sounding like a giant's bellow atop a chorus of lions, "You have a special part to play in this…Lord Bahamut wishes to convey his wishes of you in person."

Odin felt an honored shock at this. Bahamut was known as God of the Summoned, and was respected by the Summoned well enough that this title was no empty boast. In all the time Odin had spent in this world, he had never met with Bahamut, and could count on his hands how many others he knew had--and of those, only Leviathan and Alexander were known to have had a repeat audience.

Regardless, he was a knight and a warrior, and knew his duty instinctively. "As you and he wish, my lord. Lead me to the Dragon King."

Simon's Notes: I find it more and more that I am reading this narrative as an actual historical document, and not as the simple fiction that it might be. Thus, I was somewhat intrigued by the mention of Masamune and Excalibur--I know that the legendary Excalibur here in Ivalice is in possession of Cidolfus Orlandu, known better as the infamous Thunder God Cid, while the Masamune is supposedly a personal treasure of Marquis Elmdor. Could it be that, just as it seems that certain summoned beasts recur in other worlds, so too do certain objects of great significance?

Naturally, of far more interest to me is the first direct reference to Ivalice in this tale. Of course, Ivalice was, indeed, split into seven constantly-feuding kingdoms hundreds of years ago, as any historian would know. Unfortunately, it does not help me to date this story very well, since the period of time that Ivalice was thus split was centuries long. Still, it is of interest to me to make note of, and perhaps further references will help me to narrow this document's date of origin more thoroughly. Who knows--perhaps my initial hunch will turn out to be right, and there will be something to be found that could give insight to the times and nature of Saint Ajora.

At any rate, this concludes the second part of Odin's story. Onward to the final act…


	9. Chapter 8: Renewed Life

_Disclaimer_: Since the last disclaimer, I have not suddenly become the owner of all the intellectual property this fanfiction fanfics, and I also have not suddenly started to make money from writing it. So don't sue me.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

**Chapter 8: Renewed Life**

Odin knelt silently, keeping his eyes to the floor of the ornate throne room as his father Niod stood beside him to address the king.

Niod Raiden was in all ways a brutal man, violent and savage in appearance, actions, and nature. What could be seen of his face was scarred heavily, and there was no doubt in any observer's mind that the flesh hidden behind the coarse, thick orange beard that covered his chin, jaw, and cheeks was as heavily disfigured by past battles as the rest of him. His nose was disfigured, crooked and bent slightly to Niod's left, clearly having been broken at least once in the past, and his right ear was missing its top. His frame was that of a hulking brute, tall and wide, with meaty limbs and a broad girth. Looking at his figure, one would be hard-pressed to determine how much of his mass was made up of muscle and how much was simply excess bulk. But whether he was strong enough to break bones in his ham-fisted clutches or if he could simply throw his weight around, his size was a warning that he was not to be trifled with.

What truly gave away his harsh nature, however, were his eyes. They held a spark of perpetual anger to them that served as the centerpiece for every scowl or snarl he made. This was the tint of primitive instinct normally covered, soothed, or even cured by society; it was the desire to conquer, to take whatever was wanted by whatever force was necessary. The fact that this heated savage glint existed in gray eyes, usually an eye color difficult to hold a natural malice, only heightened the effect.

Niod was not unintelligent, however. His savagery was only half of his success as a soldier; the other half was his expertise in handling his weapons. He knew the secrets of combat that could make a battle axe as delicate and agile a tool as a dagger, a spear as potent in close combat as a mace, and a simple staff as devastating as a broadsword. His preferred weapon was actually a rapier--he could use its finesse in attack and defense to fence his way close enough to an opponent to surprise them with a heavy kick or a harsh punch that would take them unawares (if not just immediately send them to the ground) and stun them more than long enough for him to drive his elegant rapier through his opponent's heart or throat.

Odin had never known his mother. She had died early in his life, shortly before he had seen a full year pass. Or, more accurately, she was killed. Her husband had become convinced that she was being unfaithful to him with a neighbor, and had strangled her in enraged retribution. Whether or not Niod was right, or if he even had any single reason to suspect, was unknown.

This was, of course, a serious crime--while certainly not on the same social tier as men, women were as protected by the law against murder. In normal times, Niod would have been investigated, tried, and punished, most likely with execution.

The times, however, were not normal. Humanity was waging war against the Espers, strange and powerful sentient creatures gifted with the power of magic--a power both feared and yearned for by the humans. For on this planet, magic was born from the remains of three deities rather than a more conventional source such as Crystals, and for reasons that humans had no conception of and Espers knew only parts of from old and inaccurate legends, it could only be accessed by Espers and some few monsters. The fear and envy of humans toward their Esper neighbors had for centuries created a dangerous tension between the two races, and around ten years before this moment had finally erupted into violence.

At that time, there had been some startling advances in the field of magical science, and it had been revealed to the world that it was theoretically possible to transfer magical ability and potential from a live Esper to a human being. The process was estimated to be many years away from realization, if it were indeed possible at all. Even still, the Espers, who had until then carefully hoarded away their few dead fellows and guarded the knowledge that their remains could teach humans magic out of both a fear of what humans would do to obtain dead Espers and a great pride against the thought of sharing their gift with their inherently inferior neighbors and friends, were immediately panicked. They imagined a future where every last one of their kind would be hunted down by human soldiers to be imprisoned and have their gift forcibly extracted.

The conflict that would later become known as the War of the Magi began with half a dozen coordinated attacks by Espers on as many human cities. Their goal: genocide. Eliminating the magical scientists would not be enough--as long as humans existed, there would be some to continue the research, for that was simply their hive-minded nature. Although it is very likely that the War of the Magi would have occurred eventually by humanity's hand if not the Espers', it is still ironic that the Espers were the ones to ignite the conflict which would eventually lead to the very future they so feared.

Though outnumbered several hundred to one, the Espers were extremely successful in obliterating many kingdoms, thanks to their magic. Though the human countries united with one another shortly after the war began, they found it impossible to retake any ground lost to Espers' forces, and slowly continued to lose one region after another. At the best times, it was a stalemate. Most recently, however, the Espers had been making their best progress so far through human lands, and it was expected that the kingdom of Lokithor, ruled over by King Adrin and home to Niod Raiden and his son, would be the next land to fall.

These times made a man such as Niod Raiden a valuable asset. He had already killed eight Espers alone, more than any other man alive, and more even than some of the smaller countries that had fallen. Thus, King Adrin and his court tolerated this dislikeable and perhaps evil man, overlooking even his most heinous indiscretions in the hopes that he could be instrumental to victory.

Niod, of course, realized what a fortunate position this was to hold, and used this tolerance to the fullest, hence why he and his son were now having an audience with King Adrin himself.

"What may I do for you today, Niod?" King Adrin asked his guest. Despite the fact that it was a large social error for a regent to make, he could never quite bring himself to address this particular knight as "Sir."

"I have a favor to ask you, Adrin," Niod said, his deep and hoarse voice carrying a pleased ring to it. One of the smaller indiscretions Niod was perpetually pardoned for was the audacity and rudeness of addressing his king by name alone.

"Ask it, and I shall grant it if it is within my power."

Niod did not respond to the king, but instead gave a small kick to Odin and told him, "Look up at your king, boy!"

Odin did as he was told, raising his head to get his first good view of the man Niod had told him was to be respected and revered above anyone save Niod himself (it was not that Niod didn't understand social courtesies--he just knew that he himself was above them). King Adrin was a rather small man, if not in his average height, then rather in his skinny frame. The worries of ruling his kingdom looked like they weighed so heavily upon him that he might collapse from the burden.

"This is my son, Odin," Niod informed his king. The enthusiasm in his voice was pride, though knowing Niod, King Adrin would suspect it was pride in himself just for having a son at all as much as he would that it was in the boy himself.

"I had not been introduced to him before," King Adrin replied evenly, wondering whether Niod had any real point to this.

"It is my honor to be in your presence, my lord," Odin said respectfully, this time not needing his father's kick to recognize his social cue.

"I want to bring my son with me on active duty," Niod announced brashly. "Not to worry, he'll need no pay, and will make do with half a regular share for meals."

"You…you wish to bring that boy into combat situations?" asked King Adrin with honest incredulity. Granted, for a boy of ten years, Odin was remarkably large and looked quite strong, but he was still quite obviously a child. "Why, he's younger than most of stable boys only just beginning their knight training."

Niod barked out an unpleasant laugh. "Never you mind your royal head about that, Adrin. I've trained this boy myself! Anyone with even a speck of my combat learning is a match for any soldier you have, no matter the size!"

King Adrin was not reassured by Niod's self-important boasts; he did not want to force a young boy into a life-threatening battle with creatures that even fully-grown men rarely had a chance against. "Well, Niod, I don't think that will work. He's still not old enough to ride an adult chocobo properly, and you know that until they're adults, the birds can't properly carry people, even children."

"Aye, those worthless bags of feathers'll be no use to him. That's why I've gotten a young horse for my boy to ride with us," Niod said.

There was a little bit of murmuring from the few members of King Adrin's court, which the royal could certainly understand. A man, or boy, riding a horse? In combat? Absurd! As well have him ride a mule. Horses were meant to be work animals, pulling ploughs around farms, laden down with heavy sacks of merchandise for traveling vendors.

"Pay no attention to these giggling buffoons, Adrin," Niod told him, earning from those present several looks of anger that would never amount to action. "Sleipnir's a young beast, and a freak with two too many legs as well, but he'll suit Odin perfectly."

Chocobos were considered better animals to ride upon because they were far faster than horses, and had bodies shaped in a way that was perfect for a human rider to sit upon, so much so that there were many who actually preferred to do so without a saddle. But Niod knew what few had realized: a horse, while slower than a chocobo, had several times the endurance. They could go for far longer on less food and water, needing one rest for every five a chocobo needed. This endurance, and their great strength, meant that in a prolonged battle, as was common in this war, a horse could continue to bear its armor and weapon-laden rider as well hours later as it had at the battle's start, whereas a chocobo gradually tired, lost its speed and maneuverability.

Seeing that Niod wasn't going to be dissuaded just because everyone thought he was a lunatic, King Adrin sighed and asked Odin, "Young man, is it your wish to do this?"

"Yes, sire."

"You realize that this is very dangerous, young Odin?"

Odin nodded, eyes not leaving his king's. "Yes, my lord. It's my duty to you."

"That's very admirable," King Adrin replied gently, "But you don't have to do this out of duty, Odin. If you like, we can enlist you to train as a knight, instead. You'll still be doing your duty to your kingdom."

"Thank you, lord, but I do want to do this."

King Adrin sighed. Either this boy honestly knew exactly what he was getting into and still wanted to do it, or he was a very convincing actor being bullied by his father. Either way, he couldn't really think of any acceptable reason to deny Niod's request, and it was his son. Thus did the king relent and accept, bullied into going against his conscience by one of his subjects.

There were many bits of bureaucracy for Niod to go through to enlist his only child as a serving warrior, so he had left Odin outside King Adrin's chambers with the following instructions:

Odin was to familiarize himself with the castle now that he would be frequently within it.

Odin was to be patient, quiet, and respectful to everyone he met in this castle, for they were all far more important people than he was.

Odin was not to do anything to embarrass Niod or so help him Niod would break his arm in three separate places. The chances that this threat was idle were very slim.

And so Odin was now wandering through the castle and admiring the surroundings as much as a young man whose only true interests lay in duty and combat could. The clean stone walls, sturdy and majestic pillars, and bright furnishings of gold and crimson were all a far sight better than the simple and dirty wooden dwelling that Odin called home. He had no real complaints about it, for he was primarily concerned with efficiency over comfort and appearance, both by raising and instinct. Still…there was something oddly familiar, and comforting, about the solid grandeur of this castle…as though he had known it, or something like it, long ago, despite that this could not be possible.

But this feeling of nostalgia and déjà vu was not uncommon to the boy. In his short life, Odin had felt a strange familiarity with many things he had never known in this life. Most of the time, this strange sensation would be felt during his training with his father. Niod would demonstrate a certain combat technique, or describe certain stances and reactions for Odin to use in various combat situations, and Odin would find that, somehow, he already knew them. Niod attributed it to being a quick study at battle, likely thanks to his marvelous heritage, but Odin knew (but of course never said) that this was not the case. He did not learn each stance, special strike, dodge, and skill. He was simply reminded of something he inexplicably already knew--or stranger still, reminded of a _better_ version of it.

Then there was Sleipnir. It had not been Niod's initial idea to make his son's horse a freak of nature. But when he brought Odin to the local livestock merchant's stables to allow the boy to select a steed and subsequently customize and purchase whatever riding tools would be necessary for it, Odin's interest had caught upon the strange young horse with two legs too many. When he had approached the pen, the creature had come over to meet its visitor, and as Odin put a hand upon its muzzle, a shock of recognition passed through them both. What had only been a mild mutual interest a moment before was suddenly a deep bond of trust between the two. Odin did not know why he loved this horse so, nor why he was so sure that its name was Sleipnir, regardless of what the vendor who owned it might have called the animal. All he knew was that this was the partner he must choose to someday carry him through and above the fields of violent life and death.

Although Niod's vigorous and obsessive training regime for his boy had left Odin with little exposure to other children his age, he could not help but think that these feelings and this unlearned knowledge were things other people did not have. Trying to talk to his father about it was of little use, though; the one time he had tried, Niod had just told him to shut up and get back to cleaning Sleipnir's stable.

The corridor Odin had been walking down ended with a door, which, Odin found when he opened it, lead back to the castle's central courtyard. Having seen as much of the castle as he was interested in for one day now, Odin decided to wait for his father here--it was a pleasant day, he could use a chance to relax (something he was not often allowed at home), and Niod would surely find him when he was done, for he would have to pass through the courtyard on the way out of the castle. The boy began to scan his garden-like surroundings for a place to sit.

"Do you like the flowers?"

Surprised but not startled, Odin turned around to locate the source and saw a little girl, probably eight or nine years old, looking expectantly at him while standing by one of the pillars holding up an archway by another castle entrance. Actually, from most ten-year-old boys' perspectives, the girl would be just around their own height, but abnormally tall and solidly-built a lad as Odin was, he would have to stoop slightly just to rest his chin on the long golden hair that covered her scalp. Still, regardless of size, there was a certain quality about her that made her childlike, perhaps the slight rosy coloring to her cheeks which still held a trace of baby fat, or her strangely innocent brown eyes flecked with gold. Perhaps simply the carefree way she seemed to stand.

Whatever it was, it was unimportant. Little girl or not to him, Odin remembered that Niod had told him to be respect everyone in this castle as his better. Of course, this provided the boy a small dilemma--from the expectant look she was giving him, this girl had obviously mistakenly thought that Odin was observing the flowers (which until this moment he had not even noticed), instead of just looking for a place to sit down. Would it be disrespectful to tell her that? What a foolish question; of course it would. It would be contradicting her, after all, and Niod had made it quite clear vocally and physically that there were precious few offenses more disrespectful than disagreeing or correcting one's superiors.

"Yes, I do," Odin said awkwardly. Of course, lying was not very respectful either, but that was only bad if he got caught.

"Yes, they're very pretty. I like the Valhallas the best," she proclaimed, apparently proud of this decision.

Odin looked back at the various floral arrangements before him. There were blooms of all different shapes and colors to be seen. He had no idea which ones were Valhalla blossoms. Each looked about the same to him.

Still endeavoring to be polite and avoid Niod making good on his threats later, Odin admitted, "I don't know which ones those are."

The little girl frowned, almost pouting, and pointed to one of the flowers. "No one knows, not even the gardeners. But my teacher says it's important because it's our national flower, and it sym-bo-lizes quiet dignity and responsibility, and those are two things we always need to remember."

Had Odin been at all familiar with schooling, it would have been obvious to him that this girl was reciting something she had been told, and did not even necessarily understand what she was saying. But the young heir to Niod Raiden's legacy's only education had been in the skills that his brutish father deemed practical, which predictably only included the concept of reading for the sake of poring over books on battle tactics and other such war-minded subjects. Thus, this girl's knowledge, even if only a recitation of another's, was immensely impressive to the boy, and he looked at the flower she had indicated with a new interest.

It was not altogether much to look at, really, particularly not for a person with as little interest in aesthetic flora as Odin. It was white, it had four large petals surrounding a golden center, and it had a very faint fragrance. The only thing that really stood out about it at all was that it seemed to stand much straighter and taller than all the other flowers near it.

Odin may not have been a florist, but he did understand that dignity and responsibility were the foundations of Lokithor's knighthood. If this flower was supposed to have some sort of significance to Lokithor and the qualities of a knight, perhaps it would be good for Odin to have. It might be good luck.

"Can I…can I take one?" he asked uncertainly, hoping that it was not a dishonorable or rude request for him to make. "Will anyone mind?"

"I don't think so…they belong to me and my daddy anyway, and I don't mind, so it should be okay," the little girl replied, looking up at the serious boy in surprise. Boys didn't usually care that much for nice things like flowers; the few that she had observed so far in the castle were more interested in boring things like swords and rough games that they refused to allow her to join. Whether this was because they were dumb or simply because of the obvious social class gap between her and them, she didn't know or care about. "What do you want it for?"

"A…um, I thought it might be a good luck charm," he answered, feeling completely ridiculous, but unwilling to surrender the fancy that it could actually be an object of good fortune.

"I like that idea," the girl approved, pleased by her completely incorrect impression that this boy was not obsessed with rough and violent things like other boys were.

"But it won't last very long if you just take it with you," she stated in the same exaggerated tone of knowledge that she had used before. "It'll get wilted and die. You should have it pressed so it'll last for a long time."

"How do I do that?" Odin asked.

"I can do it for you," she responded, eager to have a chance to show off her expertise to this willing audience. "I have lots of books to use for it. I'll just take it for a week, and then when it's done pressing, I'll give it back to you. You don't live in the castle, do you?" Odin shook his head.

"Well, will you be back some time?" Odin nodded.

"Good! Then you can come and get it from me then," she declared authoritatively.

"How will I find you?" Odin asked. It was a big castle, and he didn't want to have to explore it all at once the next time Niod brought him here, lest he become lost beyond his father's ability to quickly find him.

"Oh, just ask for me. I'm sure someone will know where I am," the little girl replied with cheerful simplicity. "My name's Frigg."

Recalling what Niod had told Odin about proper introductions to other, more important people than himself, Odin gave a respectful bow and replied, "I'm Odin. I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Frigg."

It was then that the echoing chimes of a distant bell began to resound through the castle to mark the passing of the hour. Frigg's eyes widened, and she exclaimed, "Oh, I'm going to be late for my lesson! Please excuse me, I have to go. I'll have your flower ready when we next meet!"

With that, the young girl turned and ran into the castle's interior, leaving Odin to await his father alone. He did not have to wait for long, however; apparently, his father's general demeanor had convinced most of the bookkeepers and clerks at the Lokithor Knighthood's registration office that they should just handle as much of the paperwork involved in enrolling Odin as possible, and get Niod the hell away from their carefully ordered bureaucracy. In a good mood at having been spared a lot of time and irritation having to sign and read a lot of documents containing rules which he had every intention of following (save for any occasion where he simply didn't feel like doing so), Niod did not even interrogate his son as to whether the boy had managed to do anything especially shameful in his short absence. They set out for home, where Odin's afternoon combat practice was waiting.

Whether taken seriously by the king's court or not, Odin was now once more a knight.


	10. Chapter 9: Protection of the King

_Disclaimer_: Still don't own anything, still don't profit from fanfic-writing, still not expecting lawsuits.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

**Chapter 9: Protection of the King**

It had been a long time since Niod had last entertained any thought that Odin was not his son. To him, the evidence was all too clear that the boy was the heir to the Raiden legacy that Niod had himself created.

It wasn't because the boy looked anything like his father. He didn't. Odin's entire frame was shaping itself into a tall, muscular man's even at the age of ten years, with no hint now that there would ever be any of the excessive bulk that gave Niod his great size. With dark hair, a lean face, and an odd pair of dark crimson eyes which held a trace of ancient wisdom rather than prehistoric brutality, Odin held no resemblance to his father, his mother, or even the man that Niod had suspected his wife of committing marital foul play with.

Nor did he act especially like his father. Although Odin was a focused learner, always concentrating intensely upon the arts of combat that Niod passed on to him, he very obviously had a different perspective on what his upbringing and nature had made his life's profession. Niod was undisciplined; Odin was strictly controlled. Niod was sloppy, depending on ferocity, surprise, and size at least as often as his impressive skill; Odin was focused, never wasting energy, applying himself exactly as much as the situation called for, making his incredible strength and stamina into a part of his technique rather than its focal point. Niod was gluttonous and egotistical; Odin was precise and largely selfless. Niod would forever be a beast; Odin would be a man.

No, what truly convinced Niod Raiden that Odin was his true son was the fact that the twelve-year-old could get him into a nigh-unbreakable chokehold during practice sessions in which they sparred sans weapons. Like now, for example.

Niod grunted as his son pressed down with frightening strength, forcing his father's face against the large, grassless patch of dirt which made up most of Niod's home's back yard. Surely no child but an extension of Niod's own amazing skill and prowess could manage such a feat. Odin had his arms pinned to the ground, knees pressing down mercilessly at joint junctions, positioned exactly where they needed to be to allow a large child's weight to totally incapacitate a grown man's limbs. One arm was wrapped around Niod's scruffy throat, not only capable of choking him by restricting itself just a little further, but also positioned as to be able to press upwards, forcing Niod's jaw to stay closed, making it impossible for him or any other victim of this hold to cry for help. With his other arm's hand, Odin kept an iron grip on the excessive hair on Niod's head, giving him the ability to pull it back painfully, or repeatedly slam it forward into the ground.

It was not a perfect hold--such a thing did not exist. A man with moderate flexibility would not be long subdued by this, for he could simply lift and bend his free legs back, even just a little, to suddenly kick at Odin, throwing him off balance and breaking the hold for a fatal moment.

But this was immaterial for Niod; his thick legs had no such flexible abilities, which Odin knew and counted on. So, for all intents and purposes, a man who was to hold Niod in such a way would have him at his mercy.

But Odin was not a man yet. And no matter how advanced, how seemingly foolproof, how carefully studied and constructed a style of martial arts might be, the factors of size and strength will always be an essential factor in close combat.

Niod bucked his girth backwards, using his body's strength to rear back slightly and throw his son's grip free. The instant he had shaken Odin's hold slightly, Niod used his momentarily free hands to brace himself on the ground before he could fall back to the earth, and pushed himself up and backwards, now falling to the ground on his back, landing on Odin and crushing the young man under his weight. He felt Odin struggle vainly to escape or push him off, but the boy gave up after a few moments, realizing that it was hopeless.

Niod lifted himself up, standing and stretching his arms in self-pleased victory. The fact that his victory was over a preteen, and would not have been possible had his opponent only had a little more weight and strength, did not diminish his satisfaction at his triumph.

Most boys his age would have been seriously injured by Niod's crushing tactic. As it was, he still needed a moment to recuperate and get his wind back--a tiny rest denied to him as Niod gave him a firm kick in the ribs and muttered, "Get up, you lazy brat; I've told you not to loaf in my presence."

Odin dragged himself up to stand as quickly as he could. Niod snorted contemptuously at his son's gasping breaths, but did not berate him further. "I suppose you've practiced and failed enough for this morning. Besides, I can't have you too tired and broken before you go on duty for the first time."

This was relevant to Odin's interests. "You mean I'm going with you today, father?"

"Aye. Those paper-shuffling buffoons finally have all their fool documents in order, so you're on active duty as my subordinate. Now pay attention, boy, I'll not waste my breath telling you this twice."

---------------

Odin's first knightly task was not quite as exciting as one might have expected from such troubled times. Most of the warriors who rode their chocobo mounts beside him and Sleipnir seemed relieved for the lack of action so far in this assignment, but Odin could tell that his father, who rode in a horse-drawn chariot to his left, was dangerously bored and probably hoping for a chance to let blood.

Escort duty. Niod often complained about how much he hated it, even when it was the king himself he was protecting.

King Adrin was traveling out of his kingdom to meet with a ruler of one of Lokithor's neighboring countries, Lashnin, with the intent of securing better military aid from it. Lashnin was deeper within the territories that humanity had not yet lost to the Esper threat, and so could easily spare far more soldiers and supplies to its neighbor than it had been so far--and from the perspective of most residents of Lokithor, it was only right that it should, since Lokithor's position at the edge of the lands that the Espers had taken on this continent meant that it was acting as a shield for Lashnin against the magical menace.

King Adrin, however, greatly doubted that this meeting would enact any significant change--the people of Lashnin, and their president, were too interested in their own immediate security, loathe to lend out anything or anyone who could be instead used to safeguard their own lands. Trying to persuade them to look at the larger picture, in which cooperation and some self-sacrifice were necessary for everyone's survival, was surely impossible. For King Adrin, this meeting was a futile formality.

Still, he hoped to make at least a small use out of this excursion, and had decided to bring his daughter along. It would be good for her to experience a new place and culture, giving her a little firsthand education that all her tutors and books couldn't.

Esper attacks within Lokithor's boundaries were still thankfully small and rare for the time being, but it did not pay to take chances. Thus, King Adrin had traveled for the past few days with a group of highly trained knights to protect him on this short journey--small enough to be mobile, but skilled enough to be a formidable force to any who would oppose it, and headed by Niod, the foremost expert on up-close violence.

As the carriage and its escort of chocobo knights, chariots, and single horseback rider progressed on this sunny afternoon through the Baldr Plains, a long stretch of land split almost in half by the border between Lokithor and Lashnin, Odin wondered to himself whether this entourage really mattered. His father had told him stories of Espers on the battlefield, how they could set a man ablaze with but a word, and strike down entire columns of warriors with bolts of lightning with a wave of their hands. Their powers could eclipse a man's imagination, and their fierce, beastly forms made them formidable foes even without their spells. Would a small band of human warriors, even one that contained Odin's own indomitable father, really stand a chance against an Esper attack?

By either coincidence or fate, it was as this question passed through the young man's mind that the world before him was suddenly illuminated by an intense, almost blinding red light. As Odin and the knights around him threw their arms up to shield their vision from the light, a melody filled their minds. It was haunting, and even painful, so much so that Odin could dimly see against the flashing light several of the assembled knights trying to cover their ears--a futile effort, for Odin instinctively knew that this song would penetrate the ears even of the deaf, heard directly by the mind.

The light and music faded after but a few seconds, long though they were for the men and boy gathered around the carriage, and all immediately looked about to identify the source. Odin did the same, and tried to ask aloud what had just happened--but found that he could not. In surprise, he looked to his father, and saw Niod's mouth forming frustrated roars and curses, but no sounds. It seemed that whatever malady Odin was suffering had afflicted all those present.

The red light shined once again. This time, however, it was not an all-encompassing glare, but a mere few blinks that Odin caught out of the corner of his eye. All those gathered turned to look at it.

There, fifteen or twenty meters away, was the source of the light: a small, bluish green creature, similar to a rabbit in size and slightly in shape. More accurately, the light's source was the red jewel prominently affixed to its forehead. It leapt and bounded about, seemingly at play with itself as its jewel lit up periodically with nigh-blinding ruby light.

Barely a meter beside this energetic creature stood what gave every appearance of being an ethereally beautiful woman. She held a lyre close to herself, her fingers still on its strings, making it clear to the observers that she had been the one responsible for the ironically silence-inducing music.

It was Carbuncle and Siren, Odin realized.

He did not know how he knew the names of these creatures, obviously Espers, which he had never before encountered or heard of in his conscious memory. Nor could he explain how and why some part of his mind instinctually provided the rest with a wealth of knowledge about each Esper. He knew that Siren's song could be strong enough to wound and sometimes even kill, but generally was most effective when used for support rather than flat-out offense. It was most valuable for its ability to temporarily disable foes' voices, making it impossible for them to say whatever simple chants or even just the names that were necessary to activate most magic. He knew that Carbuncle's ruby was a small wonder of the galaxy, a mix of magic and crystal that created a magic-repelling aura around it, so bizarrely combined that even master alchemists were baffled by the presumably singular gem. When it shined, its aura grew, and all who were near the creature would witness the ever-strange sight of magical spells simply bouncing off its invisible barrier. Odin knew that, beyond their unique abilities, Siren and Carbuncle both knew a small variety of low-level attack spells, not immensely destructive, but at the same time dangerous in personal combat. He knew the strengths and weaknesses of each, small details which could be relevant in certain combat situations--that neither was trained in actual, physical combat techniques, that Siren's affinity for water did not mean she was any less vulnerable to water-elemental magic, that Carbuncle's form belied a keen and quick mind that should not be underestimated, that Siren was vain enough that damage to her face could upset her for a fatal second more than others…a vast amount of knowledge of these two Espers was instantly in Odin's head, not as a flood of new information, but as a calm well of long-known facts to draw upon.

Odin knew many things at this moment, but, as Niod led a disorganized, quiet charge to engage these foes, Odin knew one thing above all else: something was terribly wrong.

Siren and Carbuncle were not meant to be attackers. Their abilities were best suited for supporting others, not straightforward offense. Further, Carbuncle was using its Ruby Light, even though Siren had already silenced all of the soldiers present--what use could there possibly be to setting up a defense against magical attacks from foes who could no longer make them? And why bother with either safeguard at all, when humans could not use magic to begin with?

It all led up to the same conclusion in Odin's mind: Siren and Carbuncle were a diversion. A clever, flashy diversion that would distract all soldiers present, and render them a less effective fighting unit by stripping them of verbal communication. All the carriage's guards were now rushing forward to engage the two seen Espers (who, Odin knew, were easily fast and nimble enough to keep out of their human attackers' reach, which would further distract them and lead them farther from the carriage), and Odin had no voice to call them back.

He was now the sole defender of his country's king and princess, still within the carriage, likely either huddled in fear or staring out one of its small windows at what everyone but Odin thought was the main battle.

He must be calm. Niod had taught him that, and his instincts approved. Odin forced his breath to come and go peacefully as he took stock of his situation. The carriage was stuck in one place for the time being--the chocobos pulling it lay on the ground, either stunned or dead. They had, almost certainly by her intention, taken the brunt of Siren's song. So escape was not an option.

The carriage itself was built sturdily from steel. It could provide a measure of protection for its royal passengers--an enemy Esper would likely have to reach it to force entrance; destroying it or blowing a hole in it immediately would take a high level of power and magic that, as Niod had told him in certain training lessons, was uncommon even for Espers. If Odin could engage and kill or keep at bay whatever beings would be the main assault force, the carriage could conceivably keep its passengers safe. Good. He at least had a starting plan of action.

He was atop Sleipnir, giving him reliable speed and a boost to height which could be advantageous. The ground was ideal for Sleipnir to maneuver in, with firm dirt and short grass all around, everything dry with good traction. He was garbed in a reliable set of chain mail, but no other, heavier armor. It would not give him as much protection as he would have liked, but it was still sturdy, and to complain about any protection, no matter how small, would be ungrateful and foolish, as Niod would say. His armament was, unfortunately, rather light. A short sword and three throwing knives were all that he had been give to defend himself with--and even that was three knives more than most other new recruits got. Though he was strong enough to lift and effectively use a sword of regular length, the short sword was mandatory for apprentice knights, and Niod had seen no reason not to have his son work from the bottom up. The knives had only been added because Niod had reasoned that the boy could practice his aim with them on the trip, caring nothing that Odin's throwing arm was already a surer shot than any knight he had yet encountered.

Nonetheless, the quality of the weapons was high. The sword was well-sharpened and built to be durable, and the knives were sleek and razor-tipped, shaped for smooth aerodynamics and deep penetration. The lack of wind this day would mean their thrown paths would be free of hindrance. Odin could have had much worse tools of warfare, to be sure. Nonetheless, as he looked down at the flat, plain blade which he now held at ready, he saw for a moment an image of a different sword, a curved one completely unlike anything Lokithor's armories had, and he wished it could be that sword in his hand instead.

This assessment of resources, setting, and plan of action only took young Odin a few seconds. He urged Sleipnir to circle the carriage once, eyes scanning the entirety of the plains to identify any threats.

After a minute or so of patrolling and watching, a glint caught his eye, and he turned to see what it was. There, something was coming up over a slight hill several meters away! The hill itself had been nondescript and low enough to blend in remarkably well to the rest of the scenery; otherwise, Odin would have kept his eye on it from the beginning.

What was now coming into sight, surface gleaming in the bright sun, would defy the imagination of any regular inhabitant of this planet. Odin could tell that it was a machine of some kind, but it was totally unlike any he had seen or heard of in his life. From the same place in his mind that the knowledge of the Espers had been found came a word to describe it, but the term meant nothing to Odin--he had no understanding of what a "robot" was. All he knew was that, against a squat humanoid creature made entirely of brown-painted iron or steel, his single small blade of the same material seemed woefully inadequate.

It moved quickly, for its stocky build, clamoring forward to where Odin and his steed were on guard with a constant clanking sound of various metal parts and joints hitting against one another. It would soon be upon them.

Odin quickly removed one of the gleaming knives from his belt, took aim, and hurled it at the face of this metal foe. The attack was meant not to be a strong offense, but rather one which would test his foe, and allow Odin to gauge its capabilities by how it responded.

The knife flew fast and true, its deadly path going straight for the machine's left eye. A split second before it would have hit home, however, the mechanical being's arm shot up slightly, and Odin beheld a truly bizarre sight: the automaton's hand seemed to instantly grow many times in size, until it completely blocked the metal being's head. The next instant, the knife made its ineffective impact against the armored palm, and fell to the ground harmlessly.

The boy Odin Raiden would not normally have known how to respond to the strange sight he had just witnessed, could not have been expected to plan a course of attack against a machine he didn't understand and whose abilities defied his imagination. But from the same dark, inexplicable recesses of his memory that his knowledge of Siren and Carbuncle had come from now arose a sudden understanding, triggered by what he had seen, and Odin suddenly knew the approaching enemy well as Golem. The appearance was quite different from what Odin's subconscious would apparently have expected; Odin felt sure that Golem should be an entity made of crude rock rather than refined metal. Nonetheless, the unknown part of Odin was quite certain that it was the same Golem, for the shielding, expanding hand was a protective technique unique to him.

Like Siren and Carbuncle, Golem was meant to act as a supporting figure, protecting comrades with instant and nigh-insurmountable defense. Of the three, however, he was certainly the most suited for personal combat, with his large, armored, and very strong body. Had this small band of Espers any fourth member to carry out this raid, Golem would no doubt have been relegated to protecting Siren and Carbuncle during their distraction; however, if the Espers numbered only three as it now appeared, then Golem would be the only reasonable choice to act as the true attacker. It was safe to focus on Golem as the true threat now, with little worry that there was yet another threat still lurking.

Unfortunately, the knowledge that now made itself known to Odin would be of little use to him. There was but one way that Odin's mysterious memory knew of to defeat this solid foe's defenses…a skill flashed through Odin's mind, one which he felt as comfortable with as walking, a certain killing slash that could rend even rock and steel in half. But this technique, this Zantetsuken, was so precise a battle art that, without a sword of perfect balance, length, and shape, it could not be performed.

It would never work with the heavier, straight saber that Odin now held. He would have to depend on reflex and invention to fell Golem in this battle.

Sitting and waiting for the robotic Esper to reach him was foolish; all it would do was give Odin less room to maneuver and let Golem get dangerously close to the carriage. Thus, Odin decided to take the fight to his adversary before he got any closer, and urged Sleipnir forward. As he approached Golem, Odin decided to test a full frontal assault. Perhaps this Golem's body would have a weakness that the boy could exploit up close, a lack of flexibility or a less absolute defense.

As Sleipnir brought Odin into striking distance, the young fighter brought his sword up and slashed downward at Golem's expressionless metal face, with as much force as he could bring to bear on his foe. Golem's hand flew up, palm enlarging instantly to completely shade his face from Odin's attack. Steel clashed on steel, and Odin's hand screamed as pain reverberated through it. But he ignored the ringing in his hand to press the attack, drawing the simple sword back to slash again and again at the shielding body part, trying to combine force and repetition to break through it.

Furious as they were, his attacks were made with a precision and skill few living warriors had ever matched. It was instinct guiding them, not anything that Niod had ever taught him. And it was having the desired effect--the mechanical hand's steel edge was beginning to split under the constant assault, and a few more seconds would see Odin's blade cutting through the circuitry and wires within, so alien to him, yet recognized through the slight gap already made so far by his subconscious to be weak and vulnerable.

Golem apparently did not like where this battle was headed. Hand still held up to block Odin's attacks, he lurched forward, arm reaching to grab hold of the warrior's leg, doubtless to bring him down forcefully to the ground where it would be easier to attack him. Sleipnir was not about to let his rider be taken so easily, however, and nimbly dodged the clumsy reaching hand.

Odin let his horse take him a few yards away before turning Sleipnir back to face Golem. He felt some relief as he saw that Golem had ceased his advance on the carriage, and was now holding himself in a defensive position, his whole attention on Odin. At least the king and princess would be safe so long as Golem was focusing on Odin. Now all Odin had to worry about was being killed himself.

Odin had Sleipnir begin to slowly circle Golem. The robot awkwardly attempted to keep facing the horse and rider as they moved. Odin knew that Golem was not a particularly agile and dexterous being to begin with, but this mechanical Esper form seemed particularly unsuited for basic navigation. He was as strong and reliable a protector as ever, yes, and with dangerous power and persistence, but his mobility for any act beyond moving forward was slow and labored.

Still, Golem could keep up his turning well enough that Odin knew there was no chance of flanking him for long enough to rush in and attack before the Esper had finished turning to face him, and bring his offensive and defensive strength to bear. But, Odin thought as an idea was born within him from a small, stubborn streak of reckless youth that Niod had never managed to crush, that did not mean that a back attack was impossible.

He would have to act quickly. Golem surely realized that a defensive plan of combat was a losing battle in this encounter, for Siren and Carbuncle could not mute and distract the other knights forever, and he would be forced to ignore the danger of the too-maneuverable Sleipnir and Odin, and concentrate solely on his original target, the king and princess.

Odin sped Sleipnir's walk until he had circled Golem to the point where the Esper's back was to the carriage. He stopped his steed's pacing then, and turned to face his foe dead-on. Seeing that his foe had finally stopped circling, Golem lurched forward, approaching with a relatively slow but unnervingly unnatural steady pace. Odin gave Sleipnir a small kick, and the horse charged to meet the machine.

Odin readied himself as quickly as he possibly could for his next move, for there was very little ground between Golem and himself for Sleipnir to cover. He sheathed his sword, and grabbed one of his remaining two knives. Then he loosened his boots from the stirrups, mere seconds from reaching his foe.

Right as Sleipnir would be within reach of Golem's dangerous grasp, Odin had the horse take a sharp turn. As Sleipnir changed direction, Odin threw his knife straight for Golem's face once more. Again, one of Golem's hands instantly grew and blocked the missile. In the split second that it did, however, Odin put his hands on Sleipnir's back and hoisted himself up, placing his boots flat against his partner's back. He then leapt from the moving horse as high and far to Golem as he could.

It was an acrobatic feat that a gifted rider or gymnast would have been proud to accomplish after years of practice. Odin Raiden's leaping dismount was perfect this first time he ever attempted it. Instinct was somehow guiding him again, some honed inner understanding of balance helping him to make the leap as though he had practiced it for decades.

As he had planned, Odin's boots landed squarely on the still raised and enlarged hand of his foe. Golem's reaction was quick as the expert defender tried to close his hand into a fist, doubtless hoping to catch and crush Odin's lower legs, but Odin was still faster. He nimbly stepped forward to place one foot on Golem's metal skull, and used it as a foothold to hop down right in back of Golem before his opponent's crushing fingers had even grazed his attire.

The moment Odin felt his soles land on the firm ground, he straightened, pulled out the sword again, turned, and struck as hard a blow with it as he could against the Esper's flesh, gripping the rough handle with both his hands as he drove its edge savagely against metal flesh. As he had expected, a dent was made, but no cut. The rest of Golem was apparently just as solid as the hands were. No matter; Odin had not anticipated any different result. What was important, however, was seeing Golem awkwardly twist his arm around so that he could use his palm to cover the area that Odin had attacked. This confirmed to the young warrior that the unobstructed blow had not been a case of Golem being unable to reach his backside, but rather that Golem relied on being able to see an attack coming to be able to defend against it. Perfect.

Golem tried to turn around to face Odin, but the youth found it a simple task to stay behind his slow prey. As he stepped sideways to keep Golem's back to him and carefully stayed out of reach as Golem twisted his arms around as best he could to blindly grope at his opponent, Odin lifted his sword once more and brought a blow down on Golem's left shoulder. Immediately, Golem's left hand reached across the metal monster's front to come and cover the shoulder from future blows.

Holding his sword with his left hand only, Odin kept giving a few solid hits to Golem's knuckles, letting the Esper believe the illusion of an attack, while Odin's free hand lowered down to remove the third and final throwing knife he had been equipped with and grasp it firmly. Knife in hand, he suddenly dropped his sword, leapt up, and used his free hand to grab hold of Golem's left shoulder. He used it to quickly climb up onto his enemy's back. He quickly threw his right arm forward, then bent it and brought the knife's blade back into Golem's right eye. There was no way that even Golem's lightning-fast responses to attacks could have stopped it in time--Odin made sure to attack from below the robot's line of vision, the blade only visible as it drove home a moment before impact.

The knife was not meant for use in close quarters, made for penetration by throwing rather than thrusting, but, as they had appeared to Odin, Golem's eyes were made of glass. The knife had no trouble shattering the artificial eye, driving deep within its socket and causing a few sparks as it sliced through a few inner wires.

Golem opened his mouth and howled--there was no question that, artificial creature though he might be, he could certainly feel pain. It was a strange, unearthly sound, an agonized voice mixed with the heavy noise of gears turning and metal creaking to make it. But Odin knew he didn't have time to be startled or distracted by it. Even as Golem's hands rushed to reflexively cover the broken tool for sight, Odin quickly tossed the knife from one hand to the other, withdrawing his right arm quickly to avoid Golem grabbing at it. He then used his now armed left hand to force the knife into Golem's other glass eye. The blade plunged through it as it had the first, but this time broke against the metal interior. It was an inconsequential loss, however--the damage was done, as was the knife's purpose.

Odin quickly dropped himself from Golem and took a few steps back, drawing his sword. Still screaming, Golem was now flailing around aimlessly, turning and waving his arms in the vain hope of coming into contact with his nemesis. Odin carefully, quietly made his way to stand a few feet in front of Golem.

Golem was now, for all intents and purposes, helpless. Without his sight to guide them, his hands would not know where to defend. Without his eyes to find his target, he would not know where to attack. Without the ability to see where he was going, he could not know where to escape to. There was now a small part of Odin that held sympathy for the blinded automaton, and wanted to let him go alive. He was no longer a threat to Lokithor's ruling family, so there was no need to needlessly slaughter Golem.

But Odin knew from Niod's stories that Espers' knowledge and healing magics were great. There was a real possibility that, should Golem live this day, his sight could be restored by his fellow Espers, and he would once more be a threat to the survival of humanity. So, it was from a feeling of necessity, not bloodthirsty anger, that Odin shoved the tip of his sword into Golem's screaming metal maw, thrusting it as far up and in as he could. He put his all into the attack, and the steel punched through gears, wiring, and the thin metal roof of Golem's mouth to stab straight through whatever unnatural components made up the Esper's brain.

It was an eerie sight. One moment, Golem was moving as wildly as his stiff body would allow, moaning loudly. The next, he was utterly still and silent. There was no final scream, no burst of movement--he was simply dead. Odin pulled his saber free, and the metal carcass fell backwards to the ground. There was a flash of light from it, so bright that Odin had to turn and cover his eyes to avoid being the second combatant on this battlefield to lose his sight. When the light was gone, and Odin could safely open his eyes once more, there was nothing remaining of Golem save one strange, crystalline stone on the ground where he had been.

---------------

Siren and Carbuncle had fled when Golem died, no doubt knowing that they could not feasibly win the battle alone. With Siren gone, her song's effects ceased, and Odin, Niod, and the rest of the knights had regained their speech. With no hostiles left to do battle with, Niod had led the knights back to the carriage. Seeing that there was no longer any danger, King Adrin had come out of the safety of his carriage to congratulate them all on a job well done (for it was not often that any encounter with Espers, even a small skirmish such as this one, ended with a victory for humans). He had then told them all about the closer battle that he had witnessed from the windows of his vehicle--Odin's victory over the strange metal Esper that would surely have otherwise killed the king and his daughter. King Adrin then proclaimed that, once they had returned to Lokithor after this trip was concluded, he planned to properly honor the remarkable young warrior.

This news, of course, put Niod in great spirits as he proclaimed with self-pride that even as a child, his son, armed with Niod's battle expertise, could defeat Espers in personal combat. Though Adrin had his doubts that Niod could have possibly trained Odin how to jump from a moving horse several feet through the air with beautiful precision, given that Niod's size and shape gave doubt that he could leap a full inch from the ground, he didn't contradict him. He was much more interested now in quickly resuming the trip, and getting out of this area of land where Espers had been and might still be lurking--a desire he voiced.

As the knights made ready to move out, and King Adrin retired to his carriage again, Odin took his father back to where he had slain his first Esper. Pointing to the strange stone left behind, he asked Niod, "Father, when Gol--when the Esper died, he disappeared and left this. What is it?"

Niod scowled at the small object, and shuddered a little. "That's called Magicite, boy. A dead Esper. Don't you ever touch one, you hear me, you little brat? They're cursed things; any man what holds one hears the voice of the monster he's killed, whispering in his ear for all his days. They say the curse'll drive you mad, one last act of spite the Esper makes against us. Leave it be and hope no other damned fool comes and touches it."

Niod left to mount his chariot once more. Odin followed him after one final glance at Golem's only remains. He felt strangely conflicted…a great pride and sense of accomplishment permeated him at knowing that he had succeeded excellently at protecting his king, and fulfilled his first and greatest duty as a knight. The duty of protection of one's lord…it was truly the greatest cause Odin could imagine, and he had followed it through this day. Were it at all more becoming to a knight in training, and were he not sure that Niod would bruise him soundly for it, the boy might have given a small whoop of pride.

And yet…there was some small, strange part of him that felt the exact opposite--it mourned the death of Golem as one Odin had been meant to defend. It felt as though he had failed in that same sacred duty of protection.

But this was, of course, nonsense. Odin put it from his mind, mounted Sleipnir once more, and prepared to leave with the others.


	11. Chapter 10: By Order of the King

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

**Chapter 10**

_By The RPGenius_

Niod Raiden was in a viciously foul mood. Odin could tell by the way today's practice session was going. Niod was normally an aggressive teacher, but on days when the man was angry at something or someone, he became positively hostile, more interested in finding a way to lay his son out on the ground than with actually training him. On days like this, it was in Odin's best interests to only try resisting his father for a short time, and then to "accidentally" be caught off guard by whatever swing Niod made that would knock Odin off his feet, but not actually harm him very much. If Odin didn't resist a little at first, Niod would get angrier at his sloppiness and demand the boy get back up to try again, and if Odin tried to avoid letting his father knock him down for too long, Niod would just get frustrated--and the more annoyed he was, the worse it would be when he inevitably did get past Odin's defenses.

Odin judged that he had been dodging and blocking his father's irate attacks for long enough, and watched for an opportunity. It came in the form of a badly executed uppercut, which, when Odin shifted his defensive stance slightly to let it through, grazed relatively lightly against his chest. Odin exaggerated the impact, letting his balance go completely and falling backwards to the ground. He knew that Niod would be too eager to think that a mere glancing blow from him could topple an opponent to doubt Odin's performance's validity.

Now sitting on the ground where he had fallen, Odin watched his father carefully, noting that the man's breathing had seemed to become a little more regular, and the bad mood permeating his features, while not having left at all, was at least no longer violent. Good, he had calmed down a little.

"Is something wrong, Father?" Odin asked.

Niod's directionless anger was a very surprising thing to witness today for Odin. If anything, the man ought to have been very pleased. The trip to Lashnin had concluded with as little positive diplomatic result between the allied nations as King Adrin had predicted--less, in fact, for Lashnin's president had informed King Adrin that his country would be cutting back the resources they were lending to Lokithor. King Adrin had tried to convince him otherwise, but could not. The journey's purpose having ended in failure, Lokithor's force had packed up and returned home.

Such political bad tidings were of no real concern to Niod, though. What Niod DID care about was the small honor ceremony held upon their return, in which King Adrin had called Odin forth before a division of knights, the castle's knight captain, the king's court, and of course Niod, to honor the lad's accomplishment during the trip, and officially appoint him with a new, prestigious duty.

Having his son, and, in Niod's mind, by extension himself praised and honored so well and publicly should by all rights have put the older Raiden in exceptionally good spirits. So Odin was quite puzzled that now, a few hours after that ceremony, his father was so thoroughly disgruntled.

"Wrong? Of course something's wrong, you daft idiot!" Niod replied, throwing his son a deep scowl. "Did you sleep through Adrin's little speech to you? Did you not hear the new position he gave you, or do you just not have the sense to understand it?"

"He…his majesty said I was to become personal bodyguard to his daughter, the royal princess."

"Exactly!" Niod shouted furiously. It was obvious that he wanted badly to hit something, but Odin was out of his reach, so he made do with slamming his fist into one of the practice dummies set up nearby. The wooden pole holding it up snapped in half, and it fell to the ground. "You should be out on the field of battle! Curse it all! I didn't raise you to play babysitter for some royal brat, I raised you to gain honor in combat with each foe you slay! Watching over some damn fool little princess whose only use will be to marry off to give us a new king…there's no honor in that! It's a waste of the precious talent I've given you!"

Apparently not satisfied with the previous abuse he had given the practice dummy, Niod now swiftly brought his leg back and kicked it, sending the training replica flying through the air to land near the other side of the yard. He watched its small flight, and then stood silently for a moment, becoming angrily contemplative. Eventually, he said quietly, "Adrin's a blundering fool."

Young Odin was shocked. Niod had always made it quite clear to him that his king was to be respected above all others (besides Niod himself, of course), and followed without question. This was what he had been raised to believe, and what he already instinctually knew. To call one's sovereign a fool…it was unthinkable to the boy.

"F-Father! What are you saying? He's…he's the king!" Odin protested, stumbling over the words in shock.

Niod looked down at his son, a new scowl replacing the old. This one did not seem so much angry as it did tired, though. It was as though the man was suddenly burdened by some heavy knowledge, which he must share. "Boy, listen you to me, and listen well. You're young and stupid, and for that reason, I've told you to do as you're told and always respect your betters and their commands. You haven't the brains to know any better than them. But the truth is this: just because a man's king, it doesn't make him always right. In Adrin's case, bein' king ain't enough to make him EVER right."

Odin's mind was too overcome with the idea of a fallible king to protest, so Niod continued. "Now you take this new, fancy little position he's given you. Says it's to honor you. He's lyin' through his high and mighty white teeth. He's a soft fool of a man. He doesn't think it's right having a mere boy on the field of battle--even if you're as strong as you are foolish. He's too much a chicken-hearted fool to have refused me when I brought you to be enrolled that day, so now he's found a sniveling, sneaky little way around it. He'll keep you watching over his brat for years, until HE thinks you're ready for battle. Bodyguard? She's had no need for one for the last nine years!"

Niod spat in disgust. "This is a damned WAR; the ideals of an idiot have no place in it! I've given you a gift for battle, and Adrin's seen it firsthand. My kind of skill and strength's what we NEED. Damned soft fool."

After a moment of irritated contemplation on regal buffoonery, Niod looked upwards to the position of the sun in the day sky. He grunted in an angrily resigned way. "Hmph. I suppose that'll be enough for you today. It's not long off that they'll be expecting you to report for your pointless new position. It wouldn't do to have you show up covered in gashes and bruises. Your face is likely to scare the royal brat badly enough as it is. Now get inside and get ready for duty, boy."

-------------

Odin was nervous.

It was a new and dislikeable feeling for him. Oh, to be sure, the Raiden boy had felt fear before. He'd grown up knowing plenty of fear for his moody and violent father's fits of rage. And in his recent first combat against Golem, Odin had felt a far more pronounced terror for the well-being of his king, Sleipnir, and himself. The fear had been instantly suppressed by combat instinct and knowledge to move beyond it, letting it heighten his survival senses without interfering with his ability to make decisions. It was, as Niod told it, a fool who ignored his fear, and a cunning warrior who harnessed it.

No, it was not simple fear which beset the boy right now. It was nervous worry, a social anxiety of making some mistake in his words or actions that would shame him and embarrass his father by association (and, of course, earn Odin his father's physical rage later).

He was being led by a random knight down one of Lokithor Castle's many corridors, and doubt squirmed uncomfortably in his stomach. Suppose he were to accidentally disrespect the princess, or her father, while he was watching over her? Odin was to report on a nigh-daily basis for this new bodyguard duty, which meant that he would have plenty of opportunity to say something remarkably stupid, as Niod assured Odin that he did constantly. And for that matter, even presuming that he could manage not to make a fool of himself, Odin had just now realized that he didn't actually know what it was that a bodyguard _did_. Was he to simply stand silently for hours at a time on watch, as several castle guards he passed by were expected, or was he to have a more active role? Not that he had any idea what such a role would constitute. What if the princess wanted to do something dangerous, like leave the castle to go exploring, or something like that? Surely he could not allow her to do so, but just as surely he could not contradict her, either.

On top of all this, there was a nagging worry in the back of his mind from Niod's earlier words. Odin was nearly sure that his father had only said what he did out of mean habit, but he still was slightly concerned that perhaps his face really WOULD frighten the princess. Niod didn't keep any mirrors in his home, for reasons that Odin would never dare guess at aloud, and it had been some time since Odin had last given himself a good look in a nearby body of water. There was none available right now, so Odin could not know for sure that his countenance had not become ugly and savage enough to frighten a sheltered royal girl. Given his heritage, however, the boy worried that it was a distinct possibility.

Thus was Odin's anxious mental state as the knight he had been following announced that they had arrived at their destination, in front of a conspicuously nicely furnished door, in a noticeably well-decorated wing of the castle. The knight knocked, the knock was acknowledged, the knotted door opened, and Odin immediately knelt respectfully, before even casting a glance to know the face of the girl who answered.

"Your royal highness, this is Odin Raiden, son of Niod Raiden and apprentice knight. He is here to report for his new duty as your personal protector," the knight announced

"Thank you, you may go," Odin heard the princess answer.

Odin's interactions with girls and women had been understandably limited. He had never known a mother, and Niod's social habits would have done a hermit proud. What few times he had met someone of the opposite sex stuck out in his mind, and thus, he instantly recognized the princess from her voice to be Frigg. Though he did not raise his head, as he had not been bidden to yet, the boy felt a good measure of relief from this realization. Although not all of his fears were dispelled, Odin at least felt secure that his mere appearance would not terrify the girl, since it had not when he had met her in the castle courtyard last week.

The soldier left, and as the sound of his armored footsteps receded, Princess Frigg said eagerly, "Please rise and come in, Odin!"

The boy did as beckoned. Princess Frigg's room was what one could normally expect of a little royal girl's residence. It was lavish, with a decidedly pink and scarlet color scheme to its adornments. The enormous bed's pink sheets were tucked carefully in, the dark red pillows perfectly fluffed. The beautifully crafted dresser's surface was polished and orderly, as was the immense wardrobe that stood opposite to it against the far wall. Nearly everything in the room was very neatly organized, though obviously by someone else, mostly likely castle maids.

The reason this would seem an obvious fact was that the middle of the floor gave the impression that Princess Frigg was not terribly interested in keeping her quarters tidy and organized herself. The room was large, so even with the excessively large furniture, the free space in it was considerable. Most of this space, however, was completely obscured by piles of large and small books, some open and some closed, surrounded by writing and drawing implements, blank pieces of paper, and a small variety of high-quality stuffed animal toys. There were enough books scattered about that the gaps in the large bookshelf in the corner were quite noticeable.

Naturally, little of this was particularly interesting to Odin. Still, the boy made sure that he thoroughly noted the room's layout in his brief glance around it. Regardless of why he may have been given the task of royal bodyguard, Odin intended to take it seriously, so knowing the basic layout of the room which his charge would presumably spend a great deal of her time in was a necessity.

Princess Frigg's voice cut through Odin's thoughts just as he had begun to take into consideration how many potential humanoid foes could realistically fit through the large window on the room's east side at one time.

"I saw some of your fight from the carriage windows, until Daddy told me not to look. You didn't tell me you were a soldier! You must be the youngest one I've ever seen, and I've been in the barracks before!" she enthused from the seat she'd taken on her bed.

"You're very ac-comp-lished," she added as an afterthought, carefully pronouncing the final word.

Odin was not sure whether to awkwardly thank his new charge for the compliment, or awkwardly apologize for not having mentioned his recent military enrollment previously.

Thankfully, the dilemma was solved for him, as, after a slight pause which was too short for Odin to have properly fitted in a statement of gratitude or apology, Princess Frigg continued. "I wish Daddy had let me see all of your fight with the big brown Esper. It was like watching Anonis riding off to fight the great Steroidite! Except that you won, of course."

Odin was familiar with Steroidites as large, stony gray monsters which were said to inhabit a mountain range in a country far to the south. Niod had once claimed to have killed one in his youth, though what truth there was to that claim was hard to determine--Niod had claimed to have bested just about every beast on the planet at one point or another. Anonis, however, he had never heard of. He asked Princess Frigg who he was.

"Oh, he's from a story I had to read for my lesson later today," Princess Frigg explained. "It's called "Vedus and Anonis." Daddy and my tutor say it's one of the greatest stories ever written."

The young girl got off her bed, knelt down, and sorted through the clutter on the floor. A moment later, she stood up with a very thin, hardbound book in her grasp. She turned it over to display its front, and thrust it forward for Odin to scrutinize. "This is it, see?"

Even to a boy with so little experience concerning cultural finery as Odin had, it was clear that this book was of great value, constructed far more carefully and sturdily than the few battle-oriented books that Niod kept at home. It was really far too valuable an item for Princess Frigg to leave carelessly discarded on her floor, but then, Odin would later come to realize that ALL of the youthfully disorganized girl's scattered literatures were. The cover proudly displayed its title at the top in bold, flowing letters (luxuriously complex enough that Odin had a moment of trouble while deciphering "Vedus and Anonis" from them), etched into the solid cover and emphasized against the book's deep crimson color with gold coloring. Below them, the same carved golden lines sprawled forth to outline a scene of an armored man riding atop a chocobo, with a tall woman running by his side.

It was fortunate that Odin had a keen and quick eye for observation, for Princess Frigg pulled the thin tome back to herself before the boy had had a full minute to look it over. "Do you want me to read it to you?" she asked, her eager question making it less an offer than a request for permission to do so.

Odin, of course, would never have dared refuse the princess her offer, and the book had aroused a certain curiosity within him about what this reportedly great story might be like. "Yes, please, your Highness," he answered.

Princess Frigg giggled a little at that. "That's what people call my Daddy, not me! You can just call me Princess, or just Frigg if you want. I don't mind."

The idea of casually addressing one's ruler by his or her first name was almost offensively bizarre to Odin (despite his having witnessed Niod do it before), so he simply responded, "As you wish, Princess."

Satisfied, if not pleased (she had been hoping he would choose to call her by name; it was harder to make friends with someone when they insisted on being so formal), Princess Frigg opened the book and hopped back up onto her bed, sitting at its edge and motioning Odin to sit on the ground before her. This he did, grateful for the first time that he was still restricted to wearing light chain mail armor, rather than the heavy, plated metal armor he would usually have preferred. Far more protective of one's vital areas though it might be, the heavier armor would have made sitting anywhere but on a very sturdy chair uncomfortable and difficult.

Once she was satisfied that her audience was comfortable, Princess Frigg began to read aloud from the book before her. As an introduction to what most of the remaining human lands on this world considered great literature, the next two hours would be considered by many to be awkward and unsatisfactory. The young princess did not read aloud well; she did so in a monotone voice most of the time and hesitated often when she came across larger words she was still not familiar with. In addition, Odin repeatedly needed to interrupt to have her clarify the meanings of many such words and several phrases and passages, for the language of text, flowing and beautifully calculated as it was, was often beyond his understanding--and it did not help that the princess herself was not always entirely sure of its meanings and ideas, as her tutor had not yet completed his instruction of the classic work to her.

But, in spite of the slow and broken pace, and the understandable failings of both children in grasping much of the work's deeper themes, it was without question a very positive experience for each. For Princess Frigg, it was terrific fun--she finally had a willing audience to share her interests and knowledge with who was not her tutor or her father, and thus did not already know far more about her subjects of interest than she did. She knew that she at last had a satisfactory outlet for all the ideas, stories, and knowledge that she had acquired from her royal schooling.

And for Odin, it was a revolutionary experience. Regardless of the inexpert and punctured telling, he was spellbound as only a boy could be by this tale of an amorous goddess, her reluctant human warrior captive, and his spurning her to ride off to an ill-fated battle against the great Steroidite. Had Odin thought about his reaction, he would have been surprised at how much he enjoyed this tale of divine love fatally scorned--the part concerning Anonis's fight was short, and ended with his tragic death. Such a thing should hardly have been appealing to an up-and-coming boy warrior. Yet all the same, he was mesmerized, and moved to feel sorrow at Anonis's passing as though the character had been a comrade of Odin's own, and to feel sympathetic pity for the mourning Vedus who grieved at her love's loss. It struck a chord within him, somewhere deep down in the dark recesses of his mind which held the arcane knowledge which had guided him in the ways of combat far better than Niod had…as though it had witnessed such a thing as Vedus and her sorrow once before, and regretfully only now understood it.

"So what did you think? Did you like it?" Princess Frigg asked eagerly, finally finished reading. She closed the book and looked at him expectantly.

Did he like it? The only stories he had ever known were the crude, boastful ones Niod occasionally shared concerning his own marvelous past achievements. The only books he had ever read were more manuals than anything else, concerned entirely with combat maneuvers and tactics. No time in his life that he could recall had he been made witness to the kind of tenderness and love which was found within this tale. A new world had made itself known to the boy, a world beyond the simplistic existence Niod had set him down the path of, enriched with so much more than simple obedience and honor, where there was a life beyond battle and preparation for it.

But since he had not the eloquence to express such revelations, he settled for responding, "Yes, Princess."

"Me too!" she replied, her own enjoyment of the story now strengthened by the knowledge that he had liked it, as well. "My tutor will come by for my lesson soon and tell me more about it. You should stay and listen to his lessons, too!"

Odin of course did not correct the young heiress to the throne by pointing out that, as he was meant to keep watch over Princess Frigg at all times of the day in which he was stationed as her bodyguard, he would have to stay for her lesson whether or not he wanted to. Instead, he listened attentively to the young girl as she launched into a small speech about why she liked Vedus and Anonis's story of love more than the ones in some of the other literature she had been instructed on recently. Odin let her chatter uninterrupted, having nothing to contribute to her one-sided discussion since he had of course never read any of the stories she spoke of, yet interested all the same in the opinions of this girl who was quite obviously knowledgeable about such things. He sat and listened, ready to learn the side of humanity that Niod could never have taught him.

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Simon's Notes: I have had little to say of late, for I think, for the moment, that the story tells itself well enough without my help. I would, however, like to quickly note for any future reader of this tale I transcribe that, to my knowledge, there is no such story in Ivalice as "Vedus and Anonis." It may be that the original author of this tale invented it, or that it is a work of a foreign land. The third possibility, of course, is, as ever, that this story is a genuine chronicle of the events of another world entirely, where such a story apparently must exist. Inherently strange an idea though it may be, I continue to have trouble dispelling the feeling as I read and translate Odin's tale that this is, indeed, the case.


	12. Chapter 11: Esper's Attack

_Author's Note_: The usual--don't own anything, don't profit off of anything, so don't wanna be sued.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

Chapter 11: Esper's Attack

Life for Odin had become fairly routine by the time he reached sixteen years of age. Shortly after having officially become Princess Frigg's bodyguard, his residence had been moved to a very small room in the castle near the barracks, and Sleipnir had been transferred from the small shed built into Niod's home to Lokithor Castle's stables.

In the morning and late afternoon of each day, the young man attended combat training with Niod (his father had made it absolutely clear to the king, his court, and all military personnel that he alone would be handling Odin's training, not trusting any of the regular instructors to be adequate for the task). Training sessions were as brutal as ever, though in recent years, that was largely by Odin's allowance. The fact of the matter was that Niod had lost the only real combat advantage he'd had by now, for Odin was tall and strong enough that Niod's size was no longer a deciding factor in any conflict between them. Indeed, the boy had grown steadily, and now his solid frame and strong, heavy muscles, developed both from a boon of nature and his constant practice, were greater than many a full-grown man's. Though Niod's brutish strength still surpassed his son's honed power, the gap was now small enough that Odin's great skill and reflex could make up for the difference easily, should he wish it. But the young man did not take advantage of this fact, and continued to doggedly allow Niod to best and beat him. Odin never made it easy for the man, of course (in fact, since Odin's aptitude consistently forced Niod to push himself harder to get the better of his son, these training sessions were most likely more beneficial to Niod than they were to Odin), but at the same time, he never made it remotely as impossible for Niod to disarm or fell him as he could have. As flawed and groundlessly arrogant Niod may have been, he was still Odin's father and military superior. It would have been disrespectful to wound his father's pride in such a way, and Odin was not a petty man like his father--victory only meant something on the battlefield; achieving it at the cost of another's dignity for nothing more than malicious pride was deeply wrong.

At almost all other times of the day, Odin spent his time with Princess Frigg, still holding what did, indeed, seem the largely unnecessary position of being her bodyguard. The past several years had passed completely without dangerous incident for her, as Niod had predicted. Odin had to agree with his father that he was being wasted in such a position, particularly when, from what he occasionally heard from passing castle guards and regal advisors, skirmishes with Espers were getting steadily more frequent and costly in human lives, civilian and military alike.

Still, the young man was with Princess Frigg by order rather than choice, so he felt no guilt at allowing himself to enjoy her company. And enjoy it he did. For the first ten years of this second life of Odin's, the lifestyle that Niod had forcibly imposed upon the boy had been one of toil and duty alone, with no time for play or fun. The recent six years that Odin had spent accompanying the princess were now making up for the childhood he had been denied. His days spent with her were fun and fascinating, as she allowed him to accompany her in her education's journey. She would read aloud to Odin the stories, poems, essays, and other great works she studied or had studied before, each time spellbinding him as she did so, even in cases where he ended up disliking her assigned reading. Better still, Princess Frigg loved to talk about what she read to Odin, explaining the concepts of each work, comparing characters and authors and ideas from one story to a previous one. She always had a lot to say, and Odin always liked to hear it, even if it was nothing more than her arguing irately with him when his opinions ran in opposition to hers.

For that matter, his time spent with Princess Frigg was not only very enjoyable and enlightening for him; it also boosted his self-confidence in his worth as a human being, rather than just a living tool of warfare. Unlike Niod, who had always made it a point to tell Odin that the boy was stupid and that his thoughts (if he had them at all) on matters were unimportant, Princess Frigg deeply valued her constant companion's input. She made it a point to ask Odin what his thoughts on certain passages, characters, and stories were, as well as his opinions on whether her own interpretations and impressions were valid in his eyes. At first he had been very hesitant to contribute, wanting neither to contradict the heir to the throne in any way, nor to say anything that would prove how foolish and uneducated he surely was. However, as time had gone on, Princess Frigg had eventually wheedled the odd opinion from him, and the fact that she never belittled it and took it as seriously as she seemed to take her own had continually encouraged him, until finally he was so comfortable in speaking with her that not only did he freely disagree with her whenever his understanding of a story differed from hers, but he actually often enjoyed doing so, finding her flustered irritation at his opposition to be entertaining. It was a level of familiarity that Niod would have forbidden, Odin Raiden would before have feared, and Odin's original self would have thought disgraceful.

The time he had spent as the princess's bodyguard had been enlightening to him in another way, too, this one more indirectly. It had given young Odin a chance to see King Adrin, the liege he swore fealty to, from a perspective which he otherwise never could have. Odin realized eventually that Niod was, in fact, right about King Adrin. The king made time in his schedule at least twice a day to spend with his daughter. Sometimes he would come to her room and simply sit down and talk with her about her studies, or play with her, reenacting various favorite scenes of her from her stories (this was an activity that Odin most emphatically would not engage in, so Princess Frigg was always pleased to have her father do it). At other times, they might take walks through the outer parts of the castle, especially in the spring and summer, or go down to the kitchens to sample the ingredients for that evening's dinner's dessert. Odin, of course, would accompany them. And all the time that King Adrin spent with his daughter in this way was also spent completely neglecting his duties as a ruler. Quite often, Odin had witnessed one royal assistant or another try to interrupt the king's father-daughter time with matters of pressing urgency which had only just arisen. King Adrin would invariably order that they leave, either to solve the dilemma themselves or to wait until a more convenient time to seek his authority and aid. It was a shockingly irresponsible behavior for a ruler in Odin's eyes, particularly in such an age of crisis. Appalling as it was for Odin to admit to it, Niod really was correct: the man that they served was a bad ruler.

Because of his time spent with Princess Frigg and her literature, however, Odin had come to appreciate many aspects of humanity that he would not normally have known or valued. Thanks to this, when he watched the king spending time with his daughter, encouraging her, making her laugh, giving her reassurance and confidence in herself, and simply having fun with her, Odin did not see only an incompetent and foolish king. He also saw a genuinely devoted and loving father (something he would have rather liked at times to have had himself), who made his concern for his daughter's welfare and happiness very clear. He was an important and beloved person to Princess Frigg. And so, though Odin could not honestly believe that his service to Lokithor was done to safeguard a worthy ruler, he could still serve proudly with the knowledge that he was protecting a worthy man.

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"Alright, boy," Niod said, breathing heavily, "that'll be enough for your lesson today."

Odin, whose breath was unhurried, lowered his blade. This evening's practice had gone on for an unusually long period of time. The night sky had arrived in full, starry force, and the torches scattered throughout the castle's training grounds had been lit, illuminating Odin and his father with many sources of flickering, inconstant light.

Niod stuck his favorite rapier in the ground to his side and leaned on it, chest still heaving from the workout he had been receiving from more than giving to Odin for the last few hours. When he was able to speak comfortably once more, he noted, "That fancy sword you just had to have is serving you well enough," and nodded to the blade now at rest in Odin's hand.

This new, customized sword that Niod referred to was what one might call a job perk, made possible by Odin's unique and seemingly important position as royal protector. In this kingdom of Lokithor, there was no weapon to be found even remotely close to the design of a certain, matchless blade that Odin could clearly see in his mind's eye; yet the boy had felt that he must have this sword. There was a deadly, nearly unbeatable technique locked within Odin's psyche, one that he knew would be of great use come the day he joined the fields of battle against the Espers (a day which surely would be soon, for the Esper forces had been steadily advancing through humanity's defense lines of late, and the battlefront would be within Lokithor's boundaries soon). But though he knew instinctually that he had the skill to perform perfectly, that it would be to him as familiar an action as walking, it was so precise an art that it could never be performed with any kind of sword Odin knew of, save the one in his mind.

And so, with the hope of obtaining a reasonable copy of this blade, Odin had asked Lokithor castle's blacksmith, the finest in all the land (some even said that, of what was left, he was the finest metal worker in all the world), to recreate this blade from Odin's memory, describing it in every slight detail. The blacksmith had gone to work, and delivered to the boy the result of his best labors. It was without question one of the finest weapons on the face of this planet--sleek, strong, evenly weighted to be heavy enough to penetrate but light enough to hold in one hand, sturdy, and so keen that Odin imagined it could have sliced the long end of a razor's blade in half. On the hilt, the blacksmith had engraved the name Odin had told him: Zantetsuken. The name of the sword in Odin's mind, the name of the technique in which one perfect slash could cut through shielding of any kind…

But the wrong name for this sword.

As excellent a blade as this was, it was not Zantetsuken. Lokithor's blacksmith simply had not the skill that the masters of a long-gone, other world's warrior society had employed in the creation of the original. So it was that anyone other than Odin himself would have known the boy's blade by the name Zantetsuken, but in truth, it was simply, to Odin, a scimitar. Certainly the finest example of such an exotic blade that one could ever hope to find, but still, inferior to that which Odin had hoped for. Nonetheless, he would content himself to using this blade, which he uncreatively referred to as Scimitar. It would be foolish ingratitude not to make use of a capable weapon that had been given to him.

There was another weapon in Odin's mind, a mighty spear named Gungnir, but this great weapon Odin somehow knew he could fashion by himself. Obtaining that weapon, at least, was simply a matter of waiting until he was of Lokithor's legal age to have access to the facilities he would need to forge it.

"Our training seems to take us later and later into the evening recently, Father," Odin observed, looking up at the evening sky, darkened enough by now that a few of its celestial lights could be seen.

Niod snorted. "Your mind's keen on grasping the obvious, if nothing else, boy. I've been training you for longer these days because things are going sour for us in the war. The Espers'll be in our lands in months at best, now that they're done mopping up the island nations southwest of here. People've already been sayin' Lokithor's gonna be the next to fall. The other countries are busy bolstering Lashnin's defenses as much as they can, figuring that'll be the next target after us…they're givin' up on us as a lost cause already, and damned if that fool Adrin's got the mettle to convince'em otherwise. The only purpose the rest of humanity sees in us is to delay the Espers till Lashnin's ready to bear against'em.

"But it'll be a cold enough day in Hell to make the devil piss sleet before the Espers take any country Niod Raiden guards," Odin's father proclaimed confidently. "At any rate, it won't be long till the situation's bad enough that Adrin's got no choice but to start putting you and other apprentice knights your age into the field, so I'm just making sure you get as much of my guidance before that day comes. You'll be thankful when it's the only thing standing between you and a one-way ticket on the Phantom Train on the battlefield, boy."

The news that the other remaining human lands had forsaken his own worried Odin. Despite Niod's boasting, he greatly doubted that the man could single-handedly turn the tides of this war, and Odin knew that he himself could not, no matter how many tricks his mind's hidden chambers could yield. Fighting even one Esper at a time had been a dangerous enough ordeal, and the Espers numbered in the hundreds. What was going to be the fate of the kingdom, of his father, of Princess Frigg, of King Adrin, and of himself?

Then he was surrounded by wolves.

It was quite truly as sudden as that. One moment, Odin was pondering the future of himself and all he knew. The next, dozens of wolves appeared out of nothingness in the darkened training area, all facing he and Niod.

Odin's blade was instantly up and ready, though he honestly knew not which way to turn to defend himself--they were completely surrounded. Niod cursed in shock and nearly fell over as he lost his balance, having been rather carefully supported by his rapier before.

"What the--where did--Hellfire!" Niod spluttered, rapier up and ready, as he looked desperately about.

The way the wolves all silently bore their teeth, forming a vicious grimace that only the deadliest of canines could, left little doubt of what their intentions were. "Back to back, father!" he said quickly, and Niod obeyed. It would be their only chance--at least in this position, with their backs pressed together, the two men wouldn't have to worry about rear attacks.

This was small comfort, though. There were enough of these beasts just within leaping distance to totally overwhelm them, if all attacked at once. Calling for help would do no good, for Niod had insisted that there be no one anywhere near this area during the training sessions, not having wanted any undeserving soldier to perhaps see and steal the Raiden father's supposedly flawless techniques for his own.

In this moment before the attack, as Odin watched these wolves, unnaturally large by at least twice a regular wolf's size, in anticipation, recognition struck him, as it had for Siren, Carbuncle, and Golem. A name crossed his mind: Fenrir. But beyond a name to give these beasts, Odin's subconscious provided little aid to him. There was no old familiarity as there had been for the others, no innate understanding of this obvious Esper's nature, abilities, and weaknesses--it was as if the others could have been old friends of Odin's, but this one a new acquaintance. On top of this, the darker recesses of his mind seemed to have some confusion at this situation--he instinctually felt sure that Fenrir should be as singular an entity as the ones Odin had encountered years ago. There should not have been dozens of Fenrirs scattered about the training yard.

There was no time for confusion. Three of the enormous wolves pounced forward, their fang-riddled maws silently snarling, paws with cruel nails reaching forward to slam into Odin. He swung Scimitar in an arc a moment after they leapt, hoping to slice all three across the eyes at once. The blade carved lightless night air, and…passed through all three as though they had not been there. Each dissipated the second it was struck--or would have been struck, at least, if it had been of matter--and Odin strained to halt his swing immediately, for the unused force behind it would have sent his blade too far to the side, and left him open for attack.

Thankfully, Odin was able to stop his arm's motion before it compromised his defense, and he brought his Scimitar back up before him--and not a moment too soon, for two more of the fearsome beasts suddenly ran forward, fang-studded maws gaping hungrily as each went for his legs. Odin swept his weapon's blade out quickly to counter their rushed advance, but this time restrained his swing's power, seeking to avoid his recent near-mistake.

This turned out to have been a wise decision, for these two did, indeed, dissipate instantly as the blade carved through them as though through soft moonlight, right as another of their brethren pounced for Odin's throat. He easily brought the Scimitar up and stabbed it forward. It was a perfectly aimed strike, the sword's edge sliding straight into this Fenrir's noiselessly roaring mouth. It met no resistance against this foe, either, and once again the wolf vanished into dark night air.

They began to come at him from all sides. Left, right, center, up, down, forward, Odin's sword gracefully flew in all directions to stop each attacker before it could sink its jaws into him--jaws that Odin was quite sure, given Fenrir's size and what Odin knew of his strength, could crush steel and snap bones. Each duplicate that the younger Raiden's blade touched vanished, the same as the ones before it.

"What is this, Father?" Odin asked tensely, hoping that Niod, who had far more experience with fighting Espers than his son did, could explain what was happening. "It feels as though I strike at nothing with each blow!"

"Of course…it does!" Niod replied, his speech halted and broken thanks to his gasping from the exertion of having to try to defend against as many vanishing Fenrirs as Odin was. "It's an…Esper trick…called Image! Fought one once…who used it. Esper uses magic to trick your eyes…makes ya see a whole bunch of the damned things. Only the one's real…the rest're illusions!"

"How did you defeat the other one?" Odin questioned, grunting in effort. The illusions were coming at him faster than ever now, and he had to hold the Scimitar with one hand, while he used his other hand's fist to strike out at the occasional wolf that even his skilled blade work could not attend to in time. He didn't dare let any through, even knowing they were illusions, for any one of them could be the real, very deadly Fenrir.

"Easy! Just…got some of the troops nearby…to split up and attack each one, so we'd be sure to get…the real one! Usually only get…half a dozen images, though…never heard of one this powerful at it!"

Odin's mind instantly processed the information Niod had provided, even as he his defensive swipes uninterrupted. He knew he could not keep this pace up indefinitely, and from the labored breathing and occasional curse that he heard from behind him, he knew that Niod was already becoming too tired to defend against every immaterial attacker he faced. The fact was that they would both eventually become too tired to properly defend themselves eventually--and this inevitability was likely exactly what Fenrir was seeking. No other Esper had appeared to also attack yet, so chances were good that this one was acting alone--and should that be the case, tiring his opponents until their reflexes and strength were significantly dulled by exhaustion before making his true attack was a wise strategy.

Odin would have to find some way of determining which of the numerous canine duplicates in the yard was the real one, and attack it as soon as possible. But how to go about this? Visually, each and every one of them was identical to all the others; there was nothing which made these illusions stand out as being such.

No. Wait. That wasn't true, Odin realized as he continued to fight off the intangible copies. There was, indeed, one trait to them that was off. Each one of the dozens of wolves, whether on the attack or circling he and Niod, could be seen quite clearly, as though by the light of day. Their clear appearance was independent of both the soft light of the stars, and the bright light of the flickering torches in the yard. No shadows touched their fur, nor grew beneath their paws. They possessed no matter of their own, so there was precious little to show or disrupt the light.

But the real Fenrir…

Odin turned his attention to the many wolves pacing around him and Niod, taking a chance and splitting his concentration. There were many in this false pack that were content to simply stalk in circles around, while others would break formation and attack constantly, only to reappear again with their brethren when dispelled by Odin's blade. But there was only one that Odin could see who cast a shadow as he walked. Odin had found the true Fenrir.

The young man did his best not to give away this knowledge, taking his gaze off his real foe quickly after his discovery. He continued to slash and hack as though still genuinely concerned about his harmless attackers, while mentally rushing to devise a plan of attack. Fenrir was now in front of him, but several feet away…far enough that if Odin charged at him now, the Esper would have plenty of time to dodge and flee. He was armed solely with his Scimitar right now, however, so a serious long-range offense was impossible. To add to the problem, Odin would have to devise his attack very quickly, for Fenrir was soon going to walk out of his vision, and once that happened, Odin knew there was no certainty that the Esper could be distinguished again.

Fenrir was at the corner of Odin's vision. The young man was out of time, and, with no alternative left, he chose the most reckless and crazy option open to him. He hauled his arm back, and pitched it forward, hurling his Scimitar right at his foe.

To say that the blade flew gracefully through the air, elegantly cleaving in twain the night darkness in its path, would be an outright lie. Even saying that it clumsily tumbled along an unsure path would be putting a fairly positive spin on it. The Scimitar was not a weapon meant for this purpose; its curve was not aerodynamic in any way, the hilt's shape and grasp made for a clumsy release from the hand, and its great weight and length, though giving it a pleasant balance when used properly, interfered with any flight's direction and lift. It was a credit to Odin's natural talents for combat that it managed to hit Fenrir at all.

It was not a serious wound that the Scimitar made. It was barely more than a scratch--the weapon's path dipped too low to hit Fenrir's center, but as it somersaulted its way to the ground, its blade did manage to cause a nasty gash across the lower part of the wolf Esper. It was painful, to be sure, though not especially deadly. As an attack by itself, it was a meaningless gesture which would only have resulted in Odin's discarding his sole weapon.

But that was hardly the only attack he'd planned. The instant Scimitar had left the young man's fingers, he had broken into a dash. One great step forward at Fenrir, and the blade had hit its mark. An instant later, the next stride had been made, as Fenrir let loose a loud, surprised whimper of pain. On the third stride, Odin was relieved to see the doppelgangers all around him vanish--Fenrir must have required a certain level of concentration to maintain the facade, and the wound Odin had given him had clearly shaken it.

The dash ended after that. Odin used his momentum to spring forward, covering the last few feet between him and his target with his leap. He plowed into Fenrir face first, bodily slamming the creature off its feet, despite its greater size. There was a flurry of movement as they tumbled--Fenrir desperately scrambling to get his footing back, Odin grappling with one hand at the beast to try to hold Fenrir still, trying to swing one leg over the wolf to use his weight to keep it down, Fenrir snapping fearsome, powerful jaws lined with ripping fangs at any part of his human foe he could possibly reach, and Odin using his free hand to shove the constantly moving and twisting maw away from himself.

Still, Odin was faring well, and felt sure he could manage to hold the beast down for at least another minute or so. He turned his head and called out, "Father, now, strike him while I have him under con--"

His voice trailed off as he watched Niod's figure retreating in the opposite direction, toward the shed where he kept the miscellaneous tools of warfare that they used in Odin's training sessions.

This was problematic. Odin's plan had been to hold Fenrir relatively still, so that Niod could have a clear shot to kill the Esper. Now Odin was unarmed, and slowly losing his struggle to keep the enormous, savage wolf below him under control.

There was no way he could contend with this monster unarmed. Too fast, too strong, and with a body and style of movement against which there was little unarmed defense. Not to mention that Fenrir might have considerably more magical abilities to use against Odin, as well. He needed to retrieve his sword from where it lay, a mere couple feet from him. But for the life of him (literally), he couldn't think of a way to free a hand to grab it without fatally losing what little hold he had on his enemy.

Suddenly, Fenrir went completely still. Odin almost lost his grip just from having put so much weight into keeping the wolf still when he had struggled. The only action Fenrir was taking that distinguished him as still being alive in any way was that the Esper was now growling softly, strangely, in different tones and volumes. It almost sounded like he was speaking, though certainly not in any verbal language Odin recognized.

At any rate, this was the opening Odin needed. Even if Fenrir lunged into an attack the moment Odin's hold loosened, the warrior would still have enough time to get hold of his sword and turn to meet whatever attack Fenrir had to offer. It was not a particularly safe idea, but it was better than staying where he was, with no chance to attack and barely a chance to hold his foe at bay.

Odin released one of his hands' grip on Fenrir, and quickly reached for his Scimitar's handle. Fenrir made no move to take advantage of Odin's slackened hold.

Well, that was fine with Odin. He brought his Scimitar up, prepared to strike--

Just as Fenrir's eyes opened, and the Esper issued a low bark. His image suddenly blurred and swirled before Odin's eyes, and in an instant, the wolf was gone entirely.

Odin cursed himself as he jumped to his feet. What a foolish mistake to make! It should have been obvious to him that Fenrir had been docile for those moments because he was casting a spell, apparently some sort of teleportation magic. The growling had apparently been his version of chanting incantation; Espers usually had to say such things in order to use any standard magical abilities beyond the ones they had a natural talent for, according to Niod.

Odin had only barely gotten back on his feet when something--obviously Fenrir--slammed into him from behind. Odin was knocked forward by its force, falling to the ground heavily.

As soon as he hit the ground, Odin reflexively rolled to the side, seeking to escape being caught underneath his enemy. He had no such luck, though. He had only rolled enough to be on his back before Fenrir was upon him. The monstrous wolf stood over him, legs on each side to prevent the young man from escaping. Odin tried to make a quick slash at Fenrir's head, but the Esper was too quick. Fenrir caught the blade with his teeth, clamping down on it and jerking his head quickly. The weapon was ripped from Odin's grasp--he was strong, but Fenrir had a beastly strength exceeding any man's--and flung aside, beyond his reach.

Odin watched this happen with some chagrin, knowing that he now had nothing to defend against an opponent who, in one deadly attack, could more than likely tear the better part of his throat to pieces. But he was not about to let a simple disarmament be his end. In the moment after Fenrir had released the blade from his muzzle, Odin shot his left arm up to roughly grab at the side of Fenrir's neck. The moment he saw the heavy fur between his fingertips, he formed his right hand into a fist and thrust it up into Fenrir's underside, aiming for the spot where he had previously wounded the wolf when he threw the Scimitar.

His memory was exact, and his aim true. The blow struck against Fenrir's tough body, its considerable power unhindered by the thick coat of fur covering the beast's body. A gasping whine of surprised pain burst from Fenrir's mouth. In this moment when Fenrir was shocked into inaction by pain, Odin pulled with all his might with his left hand, while pushing up and over against Fenrir's underside with his right. Caught unprepared and off balance, Fenrir was roughly forced aside, falling to the ground.

Such a move could only buy Odin a second's reprieve, if even that, but that would be enough time to retrieve his sword. Odin leapt once more to his feet. But Fenrir recovered even faster than Odin had expected, and was scrambling to also get back on his paws. While he did so, he snapped his fearsome jaws, and managed to grab Odin's left ankle between them.

The power behind Fenrir's jaws was incredible. Odin knew that were it not for his steel greaves, the wolf's grip might very well have instantly been able to snap Odin's bone apart. Even as it was, Odin knew the steel would hold for seconds, no longer. Already their plated metal was groaning as it reluctantly gave way and bent to Fenrir's ferocious jaws.

The natural reaction to this position, of course, would have been to pull his leg back toward himself, in an attempt to jerk it from his attacker's mouth. Odin was fairly sure, however, that Fenrir's grip was far too strong for that to have any effect--quite likely the Esper was expecting it. So instead, Odin did the opposite: he thrust the leg with his captured ankle toward Fenrir, directing his weight into a step straight at the wolf.

Suddenly having the armored flesh he was sinking his fangs into move forcefully toward him was, indeed, not what the wolf had been expecting, and the action forced Fenrir to take a clumsy step back himself, and to loosen his hold on Odin's ankle as his biting position changed. This gave Odin a chance to set his left foot firmly in place on the ground, and then sweep his right around to land a heavy, steel-plated kick directly to the side of Fenrir's head. The beast was knocked back a step by the blow, and Odin took advantage of this newest moment of unhindered movement to quickly take two steps away, bend down, and retrieve his Scimitar as quickly as he could.

Fenrir was back on the attack now. He lunged as Odin picked up the blade. Odin didn't have the time to bring the Scimitar up against Fenrir as he had done with the duplicates, so he instead quickly side-stepped the attack. As Fenrir landed neatly a pace behind where Odin had been standing a second before, the Odin made a lunge of his own, tackling the wolf, getting atop it and forcing one arm around its neck. Fenrir bucked and twisted, trying to throw Odin off, but he held on, firmly planting his legs against the ground. He then began to pull the struggling beast up, muscles straining from the weight as his hold forced Fenrir to rise with him or strangulate. Fenrir's back paws skittered unsurely as his front paws were lifted above the ground.

Odin grunted from the strain of lifting this struggling adversary. Just a little more…there! Fenrir's front half was high enough in the air now for Odin to be able to make a single, clean cut with his sword across Fenrir's throat, a simple deathblow which would end this fight. Odin raised his weapon, and--

Something slammed into his side, knocking the wind out of him, while the force behind the blow managed to loosen his grip on Fenrir enough that the wolf squirmed free. Odin turned his head to find his new attacker, and saw, much to his shock, Niod retracting his thick leg.

As Odin realized that his father had kicked him aside, Fenrir, now once more having all four feet planted firmly on the ground, turned to attack Niod--just in time for Niod to bring down the heavy war club he was holding onto Fenrir's skull. The Esper collapsed to the ground instantly. He did not get back up.

"Perfect!" Niod said to himself with satisfaction. "Hold that monster down, boy, I need to check it."

Odin stared at his father angrily, but did as he was told. Had Niod just attacked his own son and endangered both their lives just so that he could have the imagined glory of striking down the Esper himself? He knew Niod had a foolish amount of pride, but he didn't want to believe the man was capable of idiocy on that dangerous a level.

Once Niod was satisfied that Odin was holding the Esper down sturdily, he lowered himself down to the ground and put his ear to Fenrir's muzzle, listening intently. After a moment, he nodded and rose.

"Good! The beast still draws breath. Keep hold of it here while I fetch some soldiers to tie it up good and proper," Niod ordered.

"Father, what do you mean to do? Why did you stop me from killing it?" Odin asked.

The irritation in Odin's voice was lost on Niod as the older warrior answered, "Because there're better things to do with a lone Esper with no allies around than just killing it, boy. Had to stay your fool sword hand somehow. Why do you think I ran off to get the club? We're going to make good use of this would-be assassin…"


	13. Chapter 12: Esper's Gift

_Disclaimer_: Yeah, yeah, I'm tired of saying that I don't own what I write about and that I don't make any money from writing about it. Although I'm not tired about saying that I haven't been sued for it. And I'd rather like to keep being able to say that.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

_By The RPGenius_

Although his time spent with Princess Frigg had familiarized Odin with much of the world's culture and history, the young man was quite ignorant of most current events of the world, even those regarding the war. Niod had never had any interest in sharing many details of humanity's war for survival, only occasionally hinting vaguely at how fast the situation was worsening, and such topics did not usually come up for discussion during conversations with the princess, either. So it was that, prior to the night that Fenrir had attacked, Odin had never known that scientists and scholars of magic had in the past two years developed a crude but functional method of transferring magical aptitude and talents from an Esper to a human being--a realization of the now decade-old theories which had originally panicked the Espers into beginning this war in the first place.

The system had its problems, of course. The most obvious such obstacle was actually obtaining a live Esper to drain, of course. Simply killing an Esper was a difficult and impressive feat in itself; there had been more than one small country snuffed out during the war that had not managed to do this even once. To non-fatally subdue an Esper was a task just as difficult, if not more so. And naturally, actually keeping a live Esper captive for any period of time was a risky and difficult business.

Additionally, it was, overall, a very inefficient system of transfer. There was barely any control over the process once it began, which meant that the magical abilities transferred were not necessarily (and indeed, very rarely) as many or strong as those the Esper had used. At times, the magical powers the human gained would manifest themselves in ways completely different from the ones the Esper had been known to use. In addition, the terrible strain and suffering it inflicted upon the Esper whose talents were being robbed would often kill him, her, or it after the first transfer. To date, no Esper had had the strength to survive more than three sessions. When compared to the Imperial methods which would be used close to a millennium later, it was hopelessly crude and wasteful.

For this time, however, it was an impressive feat of magical science, and while it was unreliable, the magical transfer process had the potential of creating warriors gifted with battle talents far beyond those of regular mortal men. With the superior power of the Espers, and the superior skills and intellect of humans, these hybrid soldiers, known as Mage Warriors, were humanity's best, last hope to even the odds in this war, and perhaps cut the path to victory and its salvation.

Niod knew all of this. So, when Fenrir had made its lone attack on him and his son, Niod had seen it as less of a threat (he was certain that he or his successor alone could handle a single Esper), and more of an opportunity. Fenrir's capture would mean the addition of at least one Mage Warrior to Lokithor's needy military. More importantly to Niod, however, he and his son had been the ones to make the capture, meaning that, to his mind, they had complete authority to decide who would be the first soldier to receive a magical transfusion from the Esper. And the older Raiden had decided to use this imagined authority to bypass whatever candidates for the transfusion that Lokithor's military leaders might have recommended and proclaim that his son, Odin, would be the first recipient of Fenrir's magical gift.

King Adrin had not approved. But Niod had silenced his objections before they could be made with a single savage, assertive glance, as was often the case when Niod wanted something that King Adrin didn't like. The kingdom's generals had outright vetoed Niod's wishes. But Niod had pointed out that he could, at any time, leave this kingdom and defend another, and the generals had grudgingly rescinded their veto, knowing that the famed Esper killer was one of the very few military assets they possessed that could pose a serious threat to the Espers' forces.

Odin, of course, had no real complaints. As always, he was dutifully ready to follow his father's commands. Besides, as Niod had pointed out when he informed his son of the upcoming procedure, having an Esper's magical abilities could only make him a more effective soldier and protector. Odin certainly could not object to that.

Today was the day during which this transfer was set to happen. It had only been two days since the night when Fenrir had attacked, but speed was necessary in these operations--holding a live Esper captive was not an accomplishment which could be continued for very long. Niod's proposed method of detainment (keeping the wolf creature bound by heavy chains in the dungeons, constantly watched by three guards who would club the beast into a dazed stupor the moment Fenrir began to make any sound whatever, so as to prevent him from casting any spell to escape) was effective so far, but still too risky to maintain over any prolonged period of time. This matter would have to be settled today, and no later.

Odin's regular daily routine had not been disrupted for this quickly approaching event, however. Until two hours past midday, when the preparations for the process were expected to be completed, Odin would continue to perform his duty as Princess Frigg's bodyguard. Niod had not told Odin of anything the young man could do in way of preparation for the magical transfusion (there were only two pieces of information about the ordeal that Niod had seen fit to share with his son: first, to inform Odin that he was going to volunteer for it whether he wanted it or not, and second, that, if what he'd heard about it was true, that it was going to hurt like a mountain lion using his organs as scratching posts, so Odin should get ready for it so he didn't snivel and whine when it came). And Odin himself certainly had no idea how one went about preparing to have a mystical being's essence forcibly taken into oneself. So he had decided that he really had no reason not to perform his duties as usual; besides, it was usually enjoyable to be around the princess anyway.

Usually, but not always, and unfortunately, not today. Today was one of Princess Frigg's days to study the subject of Statecraft, and all its varied applications. Though the princess's intellectual appetite was as voracious for learning the methods of ruling and government, along with all her nation's and world's history, as it had always been for reading great works of literature, Odin held little to no interest in this particular branch of her studies. Not for lack of Princess Frigg's trying to spark some enthusiasm in him for them, though. He sometimes felt a little guilty about it, for he knew it was a little disappointing for the princess that her long-time protector and friend did not share her interest in learning the many different kinds of knowledge necessary for a good sovereign. Still, learning to be a wise and effective ruler was her duty, not his. It was simply not his field, just as combat was not Princess Frigg's field, and he had never resented her for her complete lack of interest in the ways of war.

Odin glanced out of the windows of the perpetually cluttered room and judged that it would not be a full hour before he was expected to report for the transfusion. He decided that he might as well leave now and show up early; Princess Frigg had no real need of him for the moment, anyway. He stood, bowed, and said, "With your consent, Your Highness, I must take my leave. Good luck with your studies."

Princess Frigg looked up from her books and notes, a look of surprise on her pleasant face. "You're leaving? Why? Professor Grellick won't be here for several hours. Has your father scheduled an extra training session for you today?"

Professor Grellick was the princess's tutor. He found society's lower class to be worthless and distasteful--the class to which Odin, even considering his father's high military position, belonged--and made no secret whatsoever this disdainful bias. This actually made Professor Grellick something of an anachronism in present society. If there was anything good to be gained for humanity from this all-threatening war, it was that hatred and bias between the various classes of society had dwindled to near nonexistence as the conflict had continued. The Espers threatened extinction regardless of class, and as that threat grew more serious with each day that passed, many of the dividing factors which could cause internal turmoil in the countries left to humanity had dwindled to being as insignificant as they should always have been. Aimless bias against other people, all fellow prey of the Espers, was harmfully dividing, and at some basic level, the people of the world, by and large, had begun to understand this as neighboring nations fell one after another.

Of course, not everyone had caught on to this, and for a royal tutor, Professor Grellick was not a terribly enlightened or open-minded person. He disliked Odin's presence during lessons, and Odin in turn disliked being present. He typically left the room to stand guard outside and catch up on fitness exercises during these times. Princess Frigg always was more than eager to share whatever things of interest that Professor Grellick taught her with Odin later on, anyway.

"He has not," Odin answered. "Do you recall what I told you about the recent Esper attack on the castle?"

"Yes…the one you and your father stopped, yes?" Princess Frigg responded.

"Correct, Princess. I told you that we managed to capture it rather than kill it. It's being prepared right now to have its magic transferred to human knights, to create Mage Warriors. My father wants me to be the first to receive the Esper's abilities. I am due to report to him for this purpose soon."

Odin had not really considered what Princess Frigg's reaction to this would be. She was not, after all, often interested in his affairs concerning the war. But even if he had given thought to the possible effect that this revelation would have on her, he would still not have expected her jaw to drop as an expression of displeased shock swept across her features.

"_What_?" she gasped, her tone perfectly complimenting her expression.

Never entirely comfortable with such emotional extremes in people around him in any life of his, Odin's only response to this was his own bemused, "What? What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"What do you think I mean?" she replied in aggravation that was clearly born of the subject more than just Odin's non-understanding. "You just said you were going to become a Mage Warrior!"

The consternation to her tone gave Odin an unpleasant suspicion that his father might not have told him of everything associated with being a Mage Warrior. Which would not be surprising in the least, really. "I did…is there something wrong with this, Princess?" he inquired.

Princess Frigg sighed and put her palm to her forehead in exasperation, letting her fingers rest in her head's natural golden crown. "Odin, how can you just not know things like this? I'm the sheltered princess like in all the stories; why am _I_ always the one to tell _you_ common knowledge of the world?"

She did not mean her words to offend, Odin could tell; they seemed just to be a result of worried care.

Princess Frigg seemed at a momentary loss as to how she should continue. Odin allowed her a moment to gather her thoughts, and she continued. "Odin, you know the way Professor Grellick treats you, yes? His…distaste for you, for what you are, rather than who?"

Odin nodded.

"Well," Princess Frigg explained, "there are a lot of people who feel that way about Mage Warriors. They don't trust them at all. People think that stealing an Esper's essence and putting it into a person must surely make that person too close to being an Esper to be trusted. Many believe that the magic must change a human's mind, that it makes them into a tool for the Espers, a spy, a saboteur, an assassin…a traitor. If a country has a Mage Warrior in its services, he's almost certain to be the one to take the blame for any problem or failing which occurs within it!"

"Could it be true that the magic does, indeed, make them pawns of the Espers?" Odin asked, disturbed by the possibility. Could Fenrir have attacked on his own with the intention of being captured, so that inside agents for the Esper forces could be made? It seemed highly unlikely, but still perhaps possible.

"I don't know," Princess Frigg replied, frowning. "I think it must just be paranoia, or some people's need for an easy target to blame for all the terrible dangers and happenings they face each day now. Why would the Mage Warriors fight and kill Espers if they were their secret allies? Even if it were to make us trust them, it would be silly and unnecessary. Espers have never needed any help such as that to conquer our lands. People are just so fearful now, when things go so badly for us.

"Or perhaps," she added as a sour afterthought, "they fear and accuse because of the same envious hatred for magic that helped start this horrible conflict in the first place."

Time was passing along unhindered by their conversation, and Niod would expect him before long. Odin could not spend his remaining moments discussing psychology's part in war and bigotry. "Princess, I must soon be there. Even if what you say is true, I cannot refuse this opportunity. What misfortunes befall me do not matter; it is my duty to undergo the treatment, so I may be able to better serve you. You, and your kingdom, I mean," he told her. He fumbled with his meaning at the end, but surely she understood what he had meant.

He made to leave, but Princess Frigg grabbed his upper arms to halt him. Though uncommonly tall for a girl her age, she still had to reach fairly high to accomplish this. "_Don't_ do this just because you think you have to, Odin! Your life is more important than your duty!"

Odin had never heard anything so absurd in his entire life. "Princess," he explained, "Being a soldier is a position of responsibility. Duty is all-important. For a soldier, it must come before all other concerns and wishes."

"I know duty's important," Princess Frigg told him. "But it's not everything! And following it regardless of what it asks of you isn't always the right thing to do!"

"I am a soldier--" Odin began.

"You are a human being," Princess Frigg said, cutting him off. "You've got feelings, and rights, and you can't just…just shoulder a huge burden like this just because you're told to! What about what YOU want? That matters, too!"

"What I want?" Odin repeated, dumbfounded.

"Yes! If you don't want to do this, then don't! We have lots of strong soldiers here who can do it instead. Why should you have to be the one?" she insisted.

Odin knew what his response should be to this--that he was, modesty being put aside in favor of blunt fact, one of the best warriors in Lokithor, and thus one of the best candidates for such an enhancement. But he made no reply. Her words had puzzled and disturbed him, somehow, and he now very much wanted to get out of the argument, not prolong it.

Luckily, time was on his side on this matter. "Princess, I must leave now," he said resolutely. "I am expected, and even if I were to refuse the treatment, I must still report to the infusion chamber to inform them of my decision."

Princess Frigg frowned, clearly not pleased that Odin did not sound likely to follow her advice, but did not say anything to stop him as he turned this time to leave. It was only as he stepped through the doorway on his way out that she finally said, as one final protest, "Don't let someone else decide your fate for you, Odin."

---------------------

Odin stood outside the chamber in which the operation would take place, staring at the heavy oaken door before him. He could not, would not enter with his mind in such turmoil as it was now. The infusion process was dangerous, and he wanted to be of sound, clear mind when he underwent it, lest any mental confusion on his part somehow result in disaster during the magical transfer.

Why was he hesitating? It was foolish. He knew his duty. Princess Frigg's opinion was important to him, but not enough for him to refuse his orders, and deny his nature in the process.

No, what was causing his mental dilemma was not simply her disapproval. It was what she had said. She had told him not to go through with this for duty's sake alone; she had told him that what he himself wanted was more important.

What he wanted? What a strange concept it was to him. That his own desires should be important in his life's affairs was certainly not something that Niod had ever hinted at as being possible. And until this moment, that had always been quite fine with Odin. Doing his duty, what he believed the fundamental core of being a great warrior, was all he'd ever had any particular interest in doing.

But Princess Frigg had been so filled with conviction that he should have some kind of personal motivation. And Odin's respect and even awe for the girl's intellect and education on the nature of humanity had never waned. He could not help but wonder whether she was right.

But how could she truly believe such a thing? Many of the great works she had studied sided with Odin's perspective. Why, one of her very favorites, the classic _Aedeid_, was a prime example. Its hero, Aedeas, was charged with a mission by certain gods that previous human cultures had believed in. Along the way in his travels, he had met a woman, Nido, and fallen in love with her, tarrying with her and delaying his journey out of desire for her companionship. But when the gods reminded Aedeas of his duty, he had left her accordingly. How could Princess Frigg reject duty as all-important when her own favorite tales verified that it was?

Still…still, Odin wondered if she might not be right. She knew so much more than Odin did about matters of human nature, after all. These past few years he had spent as her bodyguard had been very enriching and had given him great insight into a world he had before been completely ignorant of, yes, but Odin was still very new and inexperienced at understanding humanity, both his own and others'. He fumbled clumsily with the subject, while Princess Frigg handled it as expertly as he imagined anyone could.

So what if she was right? Odin allowed himself to consider, just for a moment, how he should act were he to follow her advice to him. She had not really told him outright to refuse the magical infusion; she had only told him not to go through with it unless he himself personally wanted to.

So what did he want? As strange as he knew it would have seemed to any other young man, Odin had no idea. Oh, to be sure, he knew his basic needs. But he was provided food and drink by the castle staff as any other guard or soldier would be, and a bed in the barracks where he could sleep sheltered from the elements. Odin was concerned first and foremost with functionality, so the facts that the food and drink were not very good and the bed was not very comfortable did not matter to him at all, and thus he had not even the simple desire to better the essentials which he already had.

He did know that he felt a strong need to be a great warrior, an ideal example of what a fighter should be…but really, could he be sure that was what he himself wanted, or what he had been told by Niod to want? The elder Raiden's single-minded goals for his son had been the only motivation Odin had been allowed to know for most of his life, and it couldn't be discounted that whatever urge Odin felt to excel at combat might simply be him taking Niod's commands as law without questioning them.

Besides, truthfully, was Odin not already a great warrior anyway? He had directly defeated two Espers already with little or no help; the number of living human warriors who could claim that or better could nearly be counted on one man's fingers. Gaining magical abilities would not make his battle skill and accomplishments any greater.

This was annoyingly difficult to figure out. Odin decided to try one more angle, and if that didn't help, to just go through with it anyways, because it would be clear that Niod had actually been right all along and Odin was just too stupid to know what he wanted.

What reason did he have to take this power? What could it help him accomplish? It was meant to make him a better asset to his kingdom, a better protector. What did he have that he wanted to protect?

What was important to Odin, aside from his basic survival, and his occupation-obsession? That was easy to answer. There were only two things in Odin's life which were really significant to him in any way, both of them people: his father, and Princess Frigg. Niod was in no real need of Odin's protection; regardless of Odin's superior battle skill and understanding, the man was still a fiercely dangerous warrior, and his experience in the war gave him an advantage of knowing his foes that Odin didn't have.

But Princess Frigg…Odin smiled as the solution became clear to him. Yes, of course, she was the obvious answer! He wanted to protect and serve her, regardless of duty, for she was more than just an official charge--she was his friend, and guide to a great world of knowledge that he could never understand without her. By taking Fenrir's magic, Odin would potentially be better able to keep her and her kingdom safe from harm. And she could hardly argue with him as she had before over whatever social sacrifices this decision might entail, since it was being done for her anyways.

Odin opened the door, confidence restored and ready for duty again. It was the first time, in this life or before it, that Odin had made a choice to do something for personal reasons rather than warrior's honor and discipline. But all he knew was that he had an out, a way to do his duty, while also keeping Princess Frigg happy (or at least, in no position to complain) by doing what he wanted.


	14. Chapter 13: Swept Up in the Tides of War

_Disclaimer_: Since the last chapter, I have neither miraculously come to own the games which I write about, nor equally miraculously devised and put into effect a plan to profit from writing this. Thus, my expectation in the previous chapters that I not be sued has also not changed.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

_By The RPGenius_

"Hah. Do it again, boy."

Niod Raiden sounded about as jovial and pleased as Odin had ever heard him. And his tone was certainly the most pleased it had ever been when talking to his son. Although Odin's primary concerns and satisfaction with the new ability he had gained from Fenrir were with its use in the line of protection and combat, the boy easily admitted to himself that his father's good mood was an enjoyable perk.

As Niod had told him before undergoing the magical transfer process two months ago, artificially gaining magical abilities had hurt. A lot. It had been as though a nest of angry hornets had exploded in his lungs, and he had attempted to cease their stinging frenzy by swallowing molten lead. The pain was so great that just its aftermath once the process was complete was devastating enough for the boy not to flinch or be at all bothered by Niod striking his heavy palm against Odin's head for whimpering while it was going on.

Fenrir had died moments after of exhaustion, or depletion, or whatever it was that killed Espers during this process. As with Golem's passing, Odin felt an untraceable, inexplicable moment of sorrow and guilt at this.

For the first few weeks, the magical gift Odin had received seemed as though it would be wasted on the boy. Magic, it seemed, was beyond his ability to comprehend and use more than it was beyond most other humans. He could feel it within him, an untapped ability, almost like a muscle he did not know how to flex. There was a spell he could use, he just knew it, something devastating and destructive, something cosmic…but for the life of him, Odin just could not determine how to cast the spell.

Niod was not particularly kind, understanding, or patient with Odin as his son struggled to utilize his gift. Waiting for results had never been his strength. He made his disappointment quite keenly and physically known to his heir, of course.

But, after these beginning weeks of discouraging failure, Odin came to a realization: the spell he had gained but could not use was an almost trivial addition to the real boon of Fenrir. Odin had also inherited some measure of the Esper's personal, unique talents over magical light refraction and manipulating small areas of time and space.

Like his useless spell, Odin hadn't the magical wisdom to properly control Fenrir's talents; he could not create multiple images of himself, nor could he use a Warp spell to teleport over short distances instantly. He could only crudely make changes in light and placement in areas so tiny as to almost be invisible to a human eye. Seemingly useless…until one afternoon, when Odin had a stroke of genius and tried using his talent to manipulate the edge of his sword.

The result was incredible. Combining this magical ability with his sword's slices created an attack that allowed Odin to slice through air, wood, stone, and steel, and not know when one stopped and the other began. This new technique, which he christened Atom Edge, carved through any shield, any armor, any blade, even the very outer walls of Niod's personal training yard.

It was much like the technique locked in his mind, his greatest skill, Zantetsuken. Odin used nearly the exact same motions for Atom Edge, for this attack above all others he was most comfortable with, and he understood every part of it. Thus, it was simpler for him to know exactly how to use his new power with it, and what course to take with it. Scientifically, Odin had no real understanding of how or why the power worked as it did. He just knew that it did, and well. The attack's effect, much as with Zantetsuken, was an instant, complete slicing in two of whatever it encountered. Atom Edge's cut was perfect: it separated, yet it did not seem to break, and thus no physical bonds seemed able to withstand its force. At least, none that Lokithor had the resources to provide for testing purposes.

In addition to perhaps (perhaps) being stronger than Zantetsuken, Atom Edge relied on magic for its drive, not so much speed and strength, so, unlike its parent technique, Atom Edge did not necessarily have to be done on horseback, where the proper velocity and angle for Zantetsuken could be achieved. Odin could perform this attack on foot, should he ever be separated from Sleipnir by accident or design.

Of course, there was one potentially deadly disadvantage, too. Because it was essentially a magic-based attack, using the sword stroke more for focused direction than additional damage, Odin feared that particularly strong foes, which had an abnormally high amount and command of magical power, would be unaffected by Atom Edge, as it was, essentially, just an (admittedly clever) attack that used Fenrir's magical abilities--abilities which themselves were, according to Niod, fairly mild for an Esper. Espers were practically magic embodied themselves, so Odin doubted that the powerful ones would have any trouble dissipating Atom Edge's lethal effect.

Niod did not share Odin's concerns, however. Once Odin showed his father his newfound abilities, Niod's general mood had picked up immensely. The physical rebukes lessened, and the scorn and insults seemed motivated more by habit than by active intent. Daily practice sessions would now inevitably derail after a few hours into Niod watching as he directed Odin to use his power over and over, testing it, always successfully, against just about every material and object which could be found within Lokithor's castle walls.

Such was the case now. Niod had lined up several empty wine glasses along a large tree stump in his personal training area, and had Odin performing Atom Edge upon each. Only one more remained, and as he was bidden, Odin brought his sword down with expert precision upon it, using his technique to split it at a diagonal angle (going straight down the center would risk cleaving some of the stump itself in half, as well, and it was too useful as a table and chair during these long hours of practice to mar).

Niod stepped forward and admired his son's handiwork. Each former drinking tool had been sheared perfectly at a different angle from the others, but they all shared one trait: their pieces were perfectly smooth and showed no sign of cracks or jagged edges from the cut. Atom Edge could elegantly separate delicate, fragile materials as flawlessly as it could strong, unyielding ones.

"Quite a trick, that is. Never gets old," Niod said, looking at the ruined glassware with a certain barbarous glee. It did not take much intuition to see Niod's imagination making the sliced chalices into Esper corpses in his mind. "With that and all the skills I've passed on to you, you'll have no trouble gaining honor and recognition on the field of combat as the great son of Niod Raiden. Even you couldn't find a way to foul it up."

Unless the Espers came at him with enraged waiters brandishing razor-tipped wine goblets, Odin somewhat doubted that this particular moment of training would be of much use to him. He did, however, have to admit that even with all the time out Niod took from their training exercises to have Odin perform tricks for his amusement, he was still getting far more combat preparation recently than ever before.

Of course, that was the natural result of once again having nothing to do all day but attend to Niod's whims. As it had turned out, Princess Frigg had been entirely right that there was a certain social stigma and suspicion against Mage Warriors. People around the castle, whether they be guard, servant, or noble, made it no secret that they no longer trusted him. He could feel their eyes follow him wherever he went, and several subtly tried to avoid being near him when he walked down hallways or ate meals in the mess hall. This did not bother Odin in the least, for he did not seek social acceptance or approval, and preferred to be left alone anyways.

There was, however, one aspect of this social paranoia that did upset him greatly. Effective immediately upon exiting the chamber where he received his magical infusion, Odin was relieved of his duties as Princess Frigg's bodyguard, and in addition received a very heavy suggestion that he not come into personal contact with her again. Unsurprisingly, Lokithor's military leaders and the members of King Adrin's court did not want a potential traitor, no matter how unlikely it was that he was one, to be around the kingdom's future leader on a daily basis. Or at all.

Niod, naturally, took this development to be an added bonus. He would have a chance to get his son back to what he considered to be a proper daily routine of combat study, and away from babysitting some useless, silly little wench who just happened to a king's brat.

"Well, best get back to practice," Niod announced, his appetite for Atom Edge apparently appeased for now. "They'll finally be shipping you out to the battlefield, where you should've been all along, now that they've had to invest the Esper's gift in you. Even Adrin can't snivel his way into an excuse to keep you here now. And once you're out there, with that trick of yours, your training, and your lineage, you'll be a proper tribute to your origins, crushing those freaks like Rutger swats the flies on his meats."

Rutger was the castle's head butcher. Odin estimated that his dinner meal that night would be much less appetizing, now. But he knew he would certainly still be obliged to eat it, for a full day of training with Niod, which was all the young man had for activities with which to pass time now, always created quite an appetite, even with all these short breaks.

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_Simon's Notes_: It is not customary for me to interrupt a chapter of the works I translate to add my own comments (I much prefer to keep such things at the end of each chapter, so that any audience concerned solely with the work itself may have the leisure of easily skipping the ramblings of some identity-less old man who interjects his unwanted and dry opinions in the midst of an otherwise compelling tale); however, I feel it necessary now to relate a certain passage of explanation left by the original author at the beginning of this chapter, much in the same way as I summarized such a passage much earlier in this translation (the one concerning the geography and history of relations between Odin's original home country and its neighbor). I feel it better to relate this information now, after this recent passage concerning Odin's newfound abilities, rather than prior to it, as the original author did. I simply hope that the reader can forgive me the arrogance of second-guessing the author's arrangement in such a way.

At any rate, this work confirms that the men who were made into Mage Warriors became hybrids of sorts, not Espers but certainly more than mere men, but also explains that, due to the chaotic nature of the crude process, their hybrid nature greatly varied from one to another. This is certainly easy to believe, considering both that the people of this world had never before had a chance to interact with magic, and that magic is generally very chaotic and difficult to manipulate. The work goes on to explain that most Mage Warriors remained, in essence, human beings; however, a few became so inundated with the abilities of the Esper stolen from, that they actually became more Esper than human. This apparently happened most often in cases during which an Esper died after only one transfusion, given that this usually meant that the human received far more magic than others who shared a single Esper. The passage confirms that this was the case with Odin, and goes on to mention that, upon death, these Mage Warriors would leave behind remains as an Esper would, becoming Magicite.

I wonder if there is any connection between this occurrence and the general mistrust of Mage Warriors that humans held? Perhaps the idea that one with an Esper's magic was too close to being an Esper for humans to trust began upon one person seeing a Mage Warrior dying and turning to Magicite, rather than leaving a regular human corpse.

In addition, there is a small explanation as to the mechanics of how Odin's Atom Edge actually worked. Fenrir's talent for time-and-space-altering magic was employed by Odin at the very edge of his sword when he swung it, which created an unnatural void along it, a magical force which could move apart the very building blocks of matter as it encountered them, much in the same way that Fenrir's Warp spell normally moved them as a whole instantly. Although, the narrative states, the skill was more akin to a spell that Fenrir had not had a chance to use against Odin: X-Zone, which created a very large void like the one Odin employed during Atom Edge, which would draw foes into it and trap them in a different, unknown location permanently.

It seems to me that Odin's use of the skill, though admittedly born out of a lack of finesse and skill for magic, is an incredibly clever and efficient way to achieve what X-Zone would normally. After all, the result is ultimately the same for each--an instant removal or death of one's foe--but Atom Edge uses but a tiny fraction of the power that X-Zone does. Odin is quite creative.

Well, no matter. Such musings are meaningless right now; let us continue with the narrative.

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As Niod had suspected, it did not take long for the military commanders of Lokithor to put their new asset to work.

Or, to be more accurate, to put him into the position to work for them. They had sent him out a month after his magical abilities manifested, along with a small group of fresh, young (as young an age as the king's law would allow a soldier to enlist at) recruits, to bolster one of the three major encampments for Lokithor's military forces. Niod had decided to go with him, in total opposition to the wishes of his superiors, who wanted their notorious Esper slayer to stay where he could personally protect them. But Niod had given their opinions on the matter the same consideration that he ever had--which was to say, none.

There had been nothing to do for several months afterwards, however. Certainly, there had been the occasional, small skirmish here and there throughout Lokithor's territory, similar to the minor attack on the royal carriage that Odin had helped to repel those years ago. But no major offensive had occurred yet, although the country was certainly overdue for one. Thus, Odin spent his days at the army camp, including the day that marked his seventeenth year of age, almost exactly as he had at the castle recently: training from day to night, broken only by a night's sleep and regular meals. There was other work to do at the camp, but Niod outranked the commanding officer, and so he declared that neither he nor his son needed to perform any of the miscellaneous tasks of maintaining the encampment.

"They'll owe us their drab lives once the next battle's done," Niod had explained to his son. "We'll turn the Espers back and send'em off like disobedient mongrels that've been thoroughly kicked for their bad habits. And once we do, this lot'll all be more than happy to do some stupid little chores for us. I'm just making use of their gratitude early, that's all."

Odin had his personal, nervous doubts about whether that would actually come to pass. Not that he doubted for a moment that part of it would--the Espers were, unquestionably, going to launch an assault against this outpost. Thus far in the war, with no exceptions, the Espers had followed one strategy for choosing targets for major attacks: they struck wherever the most humans were gathered. Nothing else seemed to matter to them. They were just as eager to meet an immense army head-on as they were to attack a relatively defenseless, highly populated city. They did not take into account factors such as their target's ability to defend itself, strategic value, or important leaders and officials. Their goals were linked to their methods: the more humans gathered in one place to kill at once, the better. With one third of the kingdom's military force stationed here, and the nearest large city located a great many miles away, far within what was considered safe territory, an Esper attack here was only a matter of time, and likely not very much time, at that.

Odin's fear was simply that of survival. Regardless of Niod's bluster and arrogance, the Espers were a force of thus far unstoppable destruction. They had suffered great casualties, and been held off, and even driven back, many times during this war, but ultimately, they were always victorious against each human country they attacked. Lokithor's army was mighty, and Odin judged its soldiers to be both well-trained and as courageous as one could expect this far into a war this devastating, but the magical beings had still eradicated more powerful armies in the past. Odin had defeated each of the two Espers he had fought before, but those times had been individual battles against one foe at a time, and Odin knew that Fenrir and Golem were not even comparable in terms of sheer, deadly power to a great many Espers previously seen on the fields of battle. Waiting tensely day after day for an assault, one that could come in any form of magic from any direction, while surrounded by thousands of soldiers who already believed themselves doomed, did not make him optimistic. There was a part of him, that dark part of his mind that he still could not fathom or gain access to, which held nothing but calm certainty for the upcoming battle: he would perform to the best of any combatant's ability, and if survival and victory were in any way possible, they would be his; if not, then he would die with dignity and strength as a true warrior.

But the rest of Odin Raiden worried about the very likely possibility that he would be unable to protect his home, its people, his father, Princess Frigg, or even himself from destruction. Even knowing that feeling such fears would do nothing but perhaps aid them in coming to pass, he still could not help himself from it, for it was, after all, only natural for a human to have such nervous thoughts.

When the battle finally came, however, Odin reacted calmly, as though he had known all along exactly when and how it would happen, and planned accordingly.

It was a pleasant day, some time after noon, when it happened. As usual, Niod and Odin were alone towards the far end of the encampment, training. They had clashed their swords against one another in mock combat, a light breeze pleasantly cooling their sweat-moistened features, when the ground began to shake violently. Even as he struggled to keep his balance (particularly trying to avoid lurching forward and either impaling his father accidentally on his blade in the process, or being himself run through by his father's rapier), Odin called out loudly for Sleipnir to come to his side. This area, a generally flat expanse of gentle plains with the occasional large tree and sparse shrubbery, had never once in Lokithor's recorded history suffered from an earthquake. This had to be an unnatural occurrence, and there was really only one possibility for its cause.

Sleipnir reached him just as the ground calmed for a moment, and as he mounted his steed, a fierce, bestial roar assaulted his ears. He turned to its origin, and saw, in the distance, the ground erupt, splitting apart as spires of dirt and rock rose up in a jagged circle. From the deep wound in the earth, an enormous brown serpent arose, and this time, its roar was no longer muted by a layer of solid soil, and Odin almost had to cover his ears for fear of going deaf from it. From the pit which the monstrous snake had exited, a number of smaller creatures of various shapes and colors also emerged. This all occurred almost directly in the center of the camp; it was really something of a miracle that only a few soldiers had been situated in that spot at the time.

Niod gave a giddy whoop, like a boy who spied a great snowball fight to join in, and ran for his chariot. Odin did not bother to wait for Niod to make himself ready, and urged Sleipnir into a steady gallop toward the fray, as the first vivid bursts of fire and lightning spells marked the start of combat. His heart was racing, but his grip on Gungnir and Sleipnir's reigns was steady as a steel clasp.

The air was a cacophonous collision of combat-created chaos: the ground was still tumbling into itself, Espers of every size, shape, and volume were issuing battle cries, men were shouting and screaming, chocobo steeds were emitting shrieking warks, and spells raged with crashing thunder, crackling fire, roaring waves of water, deafening windstorms, and shattering ice. Odin watched from a lessening distance as lightning bolts cut a jagged path through a tumultuous background that could not choose between exploding flames, mid-air whirlpools, or small tornados littered with ice shards, even as he saw in the corner of his eye several spots around the camp imploding and splitting apart in small but vicious earthquakes.

At one time, Princess Frigg had, as part of her studies, read a book whose author had emphatically declared that war was insanity. His meaning, Princess Frigg had clarified, was that the decision to make war with others was foolish and, essentially, reasonless: it was the emotion and intent of it that was insane. Now, however, Odin was sure that the author had been right in more ways than he intended, for the reality of war that the young man saw before him, the bizarre mixture of unnatural forces mimicking the elements, could also only be described as madness. And the fact that he was actually choosing to advance toward this imagination-defying danger was, if Odin had stopped to think about it, probably completely insane, as well.

Odin came up to the edge of the conflict, and saw that the closest Esper was a bizarre being that stood at about the height of a regular man and was armed with twin steel shields. At first glance, it appeared to be an animated skeleton; however, rather than simply being a collection of bare white human bones as one might traditionally expect, they seemed to have a reptilian skin of large, bright blue scales. The Esper was using the shields to block whatever attacks nearby soldiers made against him, and while doing so, countering each offense by opening its skeletal jaws and issuing a dark, crimson cloud into the face of each soldier it battled. The soldier hit would collapse in a fit of coughing and vomiting as what exposed skin could be seen turned in seconds from a healthy pallor to one of a pale, sick yellow. Within seconds, the fit would end with a gurgle, and the man would be dead, still but for a few post-mortem convulsions.

Odin had observed all this while riding into combat. Now, he adjusted the direction of Sleipnir's gallop to bear directly down on this foe. He readied the Scimitar and prepared to give Atom Edge its first true test.

Whether by good battle instincts or perhaps enhanced senses, the creature seemed to sense Odin's incoming attack, and whirled around to meet the young man, shields raised. Odin had hoped to make his move without his opponent's knowledge, since he and Sleipnir would be in great jeopardy if Atom Edge should for any reason fail to work, but such a regret was pointless now; he was too committed to his assault to stop.

Sleipnir was right at the Esper now. The skeleton raised its shields and took a breath, as Odin had seen it do before each biological offense it made, and Odin brought his Scimitar straight down against both shields, concentrating and focusing his little control over the magic within him. The blade came down, and…kept going through both steel protectors as though they were naught but air. If the Esper beneath them was surprised by this, it was not for long, for the Atom Edge continued through him in the exact same way. A flash of light followed, and the Esper was no more than a curious stone upon the ground.

As Odin turned to look for his next target, he could feel a tremor in the ground, strong enough to pass from Sleipnir's hooves all the way up to his seat. This was not the same unnatural, chaotic shaking as what had occurred during the Espers' entrance a few minutes earlier--that was, according to Odin's ears, still occurring, but far enough elsewhere on the battlefield that this localized shake could not be it. It was also getting slightly more powerful as moments passed--something on this battlefield was big and heavy enough to cause the ground to shake in such a way, and it was getting closer.

What it was became apparent a few seconds later, as Odin saw a large Esper come charging through the ranks of embattled soldiers to Odin's left. It was an enormous rhinoceros-like beast with a thick, heavy hide of dusty orange. Aside from the color, the only real noticeable difference between this creature and the genuine beast was that this one did not have just one horn, but rather several, traveling from its first, most pronounced one in a line of tiny horns along its back straight to the end--it did not even set itself apart by use of any spells. But then, Odin decided at seeing its unstoppable charge scatter human ranks, knock chocobos and their riders aside, and even smash chariots out of the creature's way, whatever magical abilities it had probably weren't as effective a force of destruction for this monster as simple velocity.

Odin resolved that this would be his next target. He spurred Sleipnir into a gallop, turning to pursue the Esper. It left a wide wake where it traveled, which made the chase easier, but navigating this path was itself a challenge, for Sleipnir had to maintain a high speed while avoiding as best he could the many broken bodies of men and chocobos, not to mention making an occasional sharp turn to miss falling into one of the many crevasses in the ground that had been and were still continuing to be made. Odin did not even try to guide his steed in this task, for Sleipnir was as much a master of his role on the field of battle as Odin was of his own. For his own part, Odin simply watched as the gap between them and their unsuspecting prey lessened, and tried his best to follow the general course of the battle with his ears. He did so not only out of a wish to be ready for his next move, but also simply because doing so would distract his eyes and ears from observing the grisly crimson splashes that Sleipnir's hooves made through the rhinoceros Esper's path. Odin did not want to think about just how many human beings were dead on this field. He did not want to be reminded that he could join them. And he did not want to consider why some patches of the ground were freshly muddy, despite there having been no rain in this area for over a week.

Horse and rider were coming up to their target now, and Odin focused his concentration on the task at hand. The easiest and most surefire way to defeat this Esper would likely be to ride a little further up, until the creature's neck and head's base were within striking distance, and perform an Atom Edge then; however, the problem was that doing so would bring him and Sleipnir into the Esper's field of vision, and all the beast would have to do would be to swing his head or veer to the side to disrupt the attack and put them at serious risk.

Odin decided to try something else. He raised the Scimitar, and made a fairly shallow slash across the Esper's hide, immediately slowing Sleipnir to a stop as the strike was made. He did not bother to waste his energy on using Atom Edge; from his position, at this speed, and against as great a bulk as the Esper possessed, getting a decent deathblow would be nothing more than luck.

The tough, thick skin coating the beast ensured that the wound Odin caused was almost inconsequential, but it was nonetheless sharply felt and unexpected. The moment it was made and Sleipnir's speed dwindled, the beast stumbled and almost fell to the ground. It dug in its heels as best it could to stop and turn, using an unfortunate group of soldiers as a cushion against its inertia. With a snort of irritation, it glared back the way it had come to find its attacker. Odin, for his part, did nothing to make himself difficult to spot; he sat upon Sleipnir and looked straight at the Esper, putting a slightly defiant look upon his face for it to see.

"You arrogant scum!" came an enraged cry from the Esper. "You'll pay!"

This was the first time an Esper had ever addressed Odin, or spoken at all in his presence, and Odin was struck for a brief moment by the fact that there was nearly no difference between this beast's voice and any given middle-aged human woman's. An enraged woman's; the Esper was so furiously focused on him that she was ignoring, or perhaps not even aware of, several of the soldiers behind her that were now focusing their attacks on her, and making worse wounds than the one Odin had given her.

The Esper charged forward, clearly intending to use her tried-and-true method of destruction to have her revenge against him. Seeing this, Odin gave Sleipnir the appropriate kick and tug, and the horse began to gallop away in retreat. The tricky part of this would be to maintain the right speed to keep horse and rider right in front of the Esper, without ever becoming slow enough for her to gore either or both on her horn. Since the rhinoceros-like being was quite fast once she'd had a chance to pick up speed, such baiting was a dangerous task. But Odin wanted to make sure her attention was fixed solely on him, and he trusted Sleipnir implicitly.

They traveled back over the same path that had been cleared by the magical beast moments before. Although the battle was pitched, chaotic, and spread quite widely across the plains, the trail cobbled with broken men that had been cleared was, Odin noted gladly to himself, still largely undisturbed and unoccupied. He could not afford the instant's delay that stopping for others in his path would have cost him; he could hear the Esper's heavy, snorting breath far too closely behind him as it was, and was almost sure for a thankfully short second that he even felt its hot breeze disturbing his backside. The young man chanced a backwards glance, and saw that he could have fenced with his pursuer, she was so close--he with his Scimitar, she with her horn.

When Odin looked back to where they were headed, though, he was relieved to see the end in sight. Up ahead was one of the many unnatural chasms that the Espers had been causing with their magical influence over the earth elements. Now Odin spurred Sleipnir on for real, picking up speed at a record pace, while sheathing his sword to free up his hand. The edge of the solid ground was reached, and Sleipnir launched himself through the air. The horse easily cleared the gap to land on the other side, which Odin estimated to be several tall men's length.

The Esper chasing them did not fare so well. She had been too blinded by anger at her supposed prey to be paying attention to where they were taking her, so she did not see the pit until it was too late, and had only realized the danger and tried to stop moments before Sleipnir made his leap. Even then, she might not have died; Odin did not know how well a rhinoceros's legs could leap, but perhaps she would have been able to clear the gap as well, had she tried to jump it. But as it was, the Esper had tried to stop suddenly, and at that speed, with that inertia, and on loose soil moist with mud mixed from dirt and blood, she merely slowed a little before toppling over the edge, hurtling into the black abyss below toward a bottom much too deep to be illuminated by daylight.

Several of the soldiers nearby who witnessed this event gave a rousing cheer at the heartening sight of a large and dangerous Esper defeated. The voices were cut off, however, as a particularly violent tremor ran through the soil beneath them. With a shocking and definitely unnatural speed, the ground all around Odin began to tilt dangerously, the area in front of him rising swiftly higher as the other side sank rapidly into an underground chasm that an Esper's magic had created. Men screamed as they lost their footing and fell down to be swallowed by the dark pit, and Odin could swear he could hear the sickening echoes of their inevitable impacts with the bottom. Some chocobo riders' steeds had the cunning and reflex to spread and beat their usually useless wings enough to slow their descent and glide to safe outcroppings on the surrounding sides of this sudden canyon, walls of deep earth that had not yet been disturbed. These ledges and holding points were often not very stable, and a long and dangerous climb would have to be made for the men and chocobos to reach the top, but they at least had a chance of emerging alive--more than could be said for the dozens of regular foot soldiers holding on to whatever parts they could of this newly tipped and nearly submerged section of the plains, should they lose their grips.

Luckily for Odin and Sleipnir, the edge of the hole which the rhinoceros-like Esper had plunged into, which they had previously been standing by, had become the top edge of the shifting expanse of ground, and so Sleipnir had managed to half run, half jump upwards to hold onto its edge with his forelegs. As Odin clung to his faithful companion's saddle for his life, his legs dangling downwards as gravity made its insistent pull to claim him, Sleipnir began to pull both of them up over the side.

As the horse was almost fully up, however, something slammed into Odin from behind and tried to shove him to the side. The combination of force and surprise broke Odin's precious hold, and the man fell.

The moment the air began to rush around him, the young Raiden's mind was overtaken by the dark instinct within him. Quickly but without panic, he scanned the space he was falling into, and saw, halfway down, one of the plains' lonely trees, a strange sight as it now jutted out diagonally rather than towering upwards. Odin immediately used knowledge and experience never acquired in this lifetime and angled his descent toward the tree. As it came rushing up at him, he stretched his arms out and caught one of its branches. At the speed he had been going, and given how much extra weight his armor gave him, doing so with the intent of using the tree limb for an immediate stop would hurt immensely, if not outright throw his shoulders out of their sockets, so he instead used this hold to direct his momentum differently, swinging and releasing branch to shoot toward another. This one he grabbed hold of and used as his anchor.

Safe if only for a few moments, Odin climbed up to stand on the branch, and looked up to where he had fallen from, pushing aside questions of how he had known how to do what he had just performed. It took only a moment to catch sight of what had thrown him loose. High above, an Esper flew from one spot to another on this tilting, grassy wall, grabbing hold of soldiers who were clinging to it and prying them loose to fall to their deaths.

Odin quickly searched the many leaves around him, and found several unripe nuts still clinging to their parent that had not yet been shaken off from all this activity. He grabbed them, carefully took aim, and began to hurl them as hard as he could up at the Esper. His aim was flawless, but the distance was great, and only a couple actually found their target before succumbing to the planet's drawing force and falling back. But this was enough that the Esper took notice, turned to see where they came from, noticed a few flying up from the tree far below, and began to plummet down towards it.

The Esper's sense of direction was keen, and the creature flew down to hover directly in front of Odin. She was a slim humanoid, her unclothed skin showing a slightly green pallor to it, strangely complimented by flowing, aqua hair. Along her back ran four sets of gossamer wings, the flying tools of insects, shining with a slight crimson flare. From each of her heels and the top of her head grew pairs of wings, as well, but these were leathery and dark violet, resembling the wings of bats. Finally, her arms were feathered, each lined with rich, golden plumage to form a combination of a human's limb and a bird's wing, with small, slim, also-feathered hands at the end of each. Had she not been attempting to throw him and his comrades to their violent deaths, Odin might have found her beautiful.

Seeing that he had no weapon out, the Esper gave an angry war cry, and flew forward to push Odin off of the branch that he was precariously balancing on. Having expected this, Odin leapt up, grabbed hold of a branch above him, and swung his legs forward. He caught the Esper's head and neck between them, locked his legs, and then gave a violent and swift jerk, snapping her neck. He then let go, and her body fell listlessly down to join her victims' below.

The way to the top now as safe as it was going to get, Odin set about the task of going down along the tree's trunk, and then climbing up to the top. Soft, grassy soil was not well-suited for scaling, but, acting once again with an expertise never gained during this life, the young Lokithor soldier, Odin made his way to the top with astonishing sureness and speed.

Finally, he reached the top, pulled himself over, and stood upright on solid ground, thankful for the comforting feeling of the earth below him. Sleipnir, faithful horse that he was, was there waiting for him. Odin immediately went through the bag of supplies that, as a soldier, he was required to keep on his steed at all times, and retrieved a coil of rope. Using a closed-handled saber retrieved from a nearby soldier's corpse to stick in the ground for a stake, Odin tied one length of the rope around the sword's handle, and flung the rest over the edge he had just risen from. It was the best he could do to help the many men still clinging desperately below that he had guiltily climbed past without the means to assist. The rope would only stretch about three quarters of the way down the sunken landmass, and there were many men on the sides, but at least they now had a chance of at least climbing up or over to a safe path to the top.

Odin climbed atop Sleipnir and took a moment to survey the battle still raging on. Thanks to the way this part of the ground had shifted, he was given enough height to look down over the fight and see pretty much everything. In the time that he had taken to get back to ground level, the conflict had moved itself a fair ways off, leaving him beyond its outskirts. He watched in something approaching horror as entire sections of the battlefield were ripped apart, rising, falling, splitting open, swallowing and crushing dozens, even hundreds of human beings at a time wherever it occurred. At the same time, destructive elements continued to rage the battlefield. Any man who tried to escape the carnage would be caught at the edge of battle by a few flying Espers who seemed to be patrolling the area for the sole purpose of killing these fleeing troops.

This was ludicrous. There were so many human beings all grouped together that they were being slaughtered by the far-reaching and destructive Espers' magic before they were even able to encounter their opponents. Conventional human war wisdom was meaningless here; greater numbers were a hindrance, not a strength.

Now, however, was not the time and place for such observations. Odin watched, and noticed that the sections of the battlefield that were engulfed by small but deadly earthquakes were ones which the gigantic brown serpent, the first Esper Odin had seen when this battle began, was looking at. It would focus on one area populated entirely by soldiers all trying to make their way to an enemy, and a moment later, the soil below them would separate and erupt, flinging them down into the earth. It was fairly obvious that this monstrous snake was the one responsible for turning the planet itself against Lokithor's forces, and thus, the most dangerous opponent present.

Odin spurred Sleipnir forward, urging the horse into as fast a gallop as possible. Sleipnir did not disappoint, and in about half a minute, they sped past the Espers guarding the battle's borders. The magical beings made a clumsy attempt to stop them, hurling balls of fire down at horse and rider, but Sleipnir's pace was fast enough that no sphere of flame came even close to hitting them.

The fighting in this area was not too pitched or dense, so Sleipnir did not have to slow his pace to avoid running into others, but Odin knew that they would not have long before hitting the more populated section. But that was not a problem; Odin was now within a comfortable range. He quickly loosened the great spear strapped to Sleipnir's side, hefting the Gungnir up and holding it above his head. Once again, the mysterious personality within him seemed to take hold of the young man, and guide his actions. He grabbed Sleipnir's reigns and pulled back, making the horse suddenly rear back so far on his hind legs as to almost stand vertically. Odin took careful aim, and pumped his arm forward with every ounce of strength he had, focusing his muscles in unison into the one, single act of hurling his great lance upwards. It shot toward the sky as though fired from a cannon, and a name for this technique, this flawless throwing skill, flashed through his mind: Gunge Lance.

The spear flew into the stratosphere, in half a second going far enough to be out of sight. The clouds seemed to part for it, its incredible velocity creating a surrounding force that pushed them away as it passed. And though Odin could not see it physically, as he quickly rode forward to where the huge snake Esper was located, in his mind's eye he tracked his missile as it hit its zenith, turned, and came hurtling downwards, gravity now giving it even greater speed than before as its high flight gave its fall greater acceleration. There was a high-pitched sound from the sky as the Gungnir came back to the ground, and Odin could see it fall like a bolt of lightning down into the skull of the titanic, earth-shifting serpent. The spear did not split the serpent's skull entirely, but rather punctured it in a nanosecond, and drove the Esper's head down to the ground. Death was instantaneous; the Esper's life was snuffed out before its cranium even began its forced descent. A moment later, when Odin came into sight of where it had been, there was nothing left to see but Gungnir, laying on the grass next to a fresh Magicite.

Odin retrieved his spear. Before he could consider his next step, however, he heard a loud, somewhat obnoxious voice nearby. Although it was no louder than any other sound on this field, it caught Odin's interest, for it was very familiar to him, even though he was sure he had never heard it before.

"Wha--how--bu---what in the name of cross-dressing pirate captains just happened?! Did I seriously just see that? Who did--how could--who the HECK just offed Terrato!?" the voice indignantly yelled.

Odin turned to find its origin, and saw a man in strange clothing standing nearby. Although most of his face was obscured by an almost glaringly bright orange cowl, Odin's subconscious mind had no trouble at all identifying this entity by the name of Gilgamesh, and feeling a much stronger familiarity and even kinship with him than it had for Golem and Fenrir--although Odin's mental image of him strangely had a second set of arms, which this Gilgamesh seemed to be lacking. He was accompanied by a small fairy hovering near his head, which he appeared to have been addressing. The fairy's lips moved, and Odin could faintly hear over the battle's cacophony a strange, jingling noise issuing from them in no language he recognized.

After a few moments of listening to the fairy, Gilgamesh interrupted it to say, as loudly and angrily as before, "Well go find out then! Ask whether anyone saw how it happened! No wonder Leviathan put me in charge of you lot today; you've really just got no clue about warfare. We were counting on that smug, pretentious, over-sized worm to be our main offense, and now--"

Gilgamesh stopped suddenly as his eyes caught sight of Odin and Sleipnir, observing him from several paces away. There was a long, pregnant pause, and then Gilgamesh spoke again. "Ah. Right. Okay. Never mind that order, Aliel. I'm…pretty sure I know what happened to Terrato."

Gilgamesh then turned to face Odin directly. He addressed the young warrior in a friendly and familiar way that Odin found quite bizarre for their first meeting, saying, "Odin! Um, fancy seeing you here! It's a…real surprise to me. I didn't realize that this was the country they put you in."

Odin could not help but feel some curiosity as to how this man knew him, but whatever questions he had were pushed aside as he focused on matters more relevant to the present situation. This battle had to be ended, somehow; at the rate it was going, Lokithor's forces would be utterly obliterated. Even if Odin managed to defeat every Esper he came across (and he did not dare to imagine that he could do so; Terrato notwithstanding, he had so far only been victorious over weak or moderately powerful Espers, and only one at a time), he could not possibly do so quickly enough to prevent monstrous casualties on his side.

"Are you the leader of these Espers?" he demanded to know.

"Ah. Yes. The no-memory thing. Why yes, uh, random warrior that I don't know, I am the Esper commander! I am Gilgamesh, the warrior of unsurpassed might! Bane of humanity! Ally to the Goddesses' children! Weaponry pack rat! What business do you have with me?" Gilgamesh said challengingly, so much so that he seemed to be almost like an over-enthusiastic actor playing a part.

"I challenge you to private combat, one against one, to disarmament or death, whichever the better warrior strives for. If I should be victor, your troops shall immediately withdraw," Odin challenged.

"Stiff and uptight as usual, I see. Well…suppose I'm interested in your offer. What do I get out of it when I win?" Gilgamesh responded, his voice taking on an interested tone.

"Vengeance for your comrade Terrato's death," Odin offered.

"Barely knew the guy. How about your sword, can I have your sword if I win?" Gilgamesh asked, the covetous desire in his voice completely unhidden.

This seemed like a fairly good deal to Odin, since, if the young man lost, his opponent would have the opportunity to take his weapon from his dead grasp anyway. "I accept."

"Okay!" Gilgamesh responded, sounding almost giddy in anticipation. "But you've gotta get off Sle--er, off your horse. One-on-one's one-on-one, after all. You keep your ride out of this, and I won't call my pet Enkidu, either. Wherever he is around here."

(_Simon's Notes_: There are, in this section of the document, some notes in the side margins, comparatively crudely scrawled in a different ink, with arrows indicating what passage they're commenting on. Each one is signed. They seem to have been left by Gilgamesh, if I am correctly reading this (pardon my lack of objectivity here) terrible chicken-scratch. In case they were intentionally allowed to stay by the original author, I will interject them at each part that they occur. In this case, Gilgamesh writes, "I knew Leviathan would have a fit if he found out I was endangering Odin's life before he'd accomplished his purpose in this war, but I just couldn't resist this oportunity [sic. I figured that, what with not remembering all his skills and kung fu and stuff, he'd be as easy to beat now as he ever would be, especially if I had him off Sleipnir so he couldn't do his super-slash thing. And I just HAD to have Zantetsuken! I just figured I'd have to be careful to just wound him, not outright kill him, and everything would still go as Leviathan and Bahamut wanted.")

Although he knew he would be limiting his battle potential severely by doing so, Odin complied, and dismounted Sleipnir. Odin could understand Gilgamesh's point on battle honor, and the general situation on the battlefield was desperate enough that he had to take the chance, to save thousands of lives. He dropped Gungnir to the ground beside him, and unsheathed his Scimitar.

The fairy-like Esper Aliel whom Gilgamesh had been talking to a minute ago flew out between them. She raised her hand, and lowered it. What she called out was incomprehensible to Odin, but it was easy enough to guess its meaning: Begin!

Gilgamesh rushed at Odin, and Odin did the same to him. Some part of Odin recognized the two swords that Gilgamesh held in each of his arms as being the Masamune and the Excalibur, the greatest known katana and broadsword respectively. His intuition warned him to exercise extreme caution in a swordfight with them, that these legendary blades could easily penetrate the armor that he wore, and that they might even be powerful enough to cut through his weapon.

Gilgamesh and Odin met exactly halfway between their original positions (as Aliel hastily flew out of the way). Gilgamesh began by sweeping the Masamune in his right hand in an arc down at Odin. Gilgamesh put a great deal of his weight into the attack, but Odin could instantly tell that this was a feint attack, even if it had a real offense's balance to its swing--as soon as he met the blade with his own, Gilgamesh would use the weight he'd put into the strike to bear down on Odin, forcing Odin to continue holding the Masamune up with his Scimitar to avoid it coming down and cleaving him in two, which would give Gilgamesh a second's opportunity to stab forward with the Excalibur into Odin's unprotected torso or chest.

Odin decided, however, to react exactly as he was expected--or at least, to appear to. He swung upwards to block the Masamune, but as he did so,, he concentrated, and…

"Atom Edge!"

The technique performed flawlessly. The Scimitar's blade met the Masamune's microscopically fine one, and kept going, slicing straight through the vaunted weapon's blade, cutting it clean off.

(_Gilgamesh's Notes_: Cheap shot! That was SUCH a cheap shot. Not fair at all.)

His attack completely, unthinkably ruined, Gilgamesh stumbled forward, holding one quarter of the mightiest katana ever forged. Odin swung his blade down to try to score a hit on his opponent, but Gilgamesh was surprisingly nimble for having his balance thrown off, and side-stepped it, then backed up a few paces.

"Aaaaahhh! My Masamune! Do you know how hard that was to get? Do you have any idea how hard it's going to be to get another one of those? I thought you had to be on Sleipnir to do that move!" Gilgamesh yelled in anger, discarding the broken weapon.

Odin completely ignored his babble and pressed his attack. He moved forward, making several thrusts and slashes as he did so. Gilgamesh parried each with the Excalibur, expertly meeting Odin's every swing, and returning several to be parried in turn. Odin could not simply force combat knowledge from the darker recesses of his mind, and he was beginning to discover the limitations of the skills he had developed over this lifetime. For now, their blades rang with equal skill as duelists, but Odin could tell that Gilgamesh was studying his technique, and learning some of the nuances of the aggressive, heavy-handed fighting style that he had been taught by Niod. Odin could not break through Gilgamesh's defense, but the human-like Esper would surely soon figure out how to do so with Odin's.

Odin decided to try his magic again. He drew his sword back, and made a broad slice at Gilgamesh's midsection. Gilgamesh saw it coming, and moved his sword to easily block it, as Odin had known he would. Odin concentrated, and shouted, "Atom Edge!" again, once more enhancing his attack beyond regular human capability.

The two swords met…but this time, Gilgamesh's sword held firm. Odin had to admit to himself that he should have expected no less. It was one thing to attempt such an attack against the Masamune, but the Excalibur's excellence and perfection as a sword was in an entirely different league. Odin's clumsy grasp over magic could never have stood a chance against its holy enchantments and flawless craftsmanship.

As their blades pressed together, and Odin found himself hoping that the Excalibur would not eventually just cut through the Scimitar, Gilgamesh suddenly reached his free arm forward and grabbed hold of Odin's wrist. In the half-moment while Odin was too shocked to respond, Gilgamesh gave his wrist a sharp, painful twist, then drew his arm back along Odin's hand, grabbed hold of part of the Scimitar's handle, and pulled hard. Odin's grip was loosened by Gilgamesh's actions, along with his own surprise at so bizarre an action, and provided little resistance as, with a jerk, Gilgamesh stole the sword right out of his hand.

Gilgamesh stepped back and held the Scimitar up to the light, crowing, "YES! I got your sword, I got your sword, I got your--wait a minute, this isn't Zantetsuken. Hey!"

(_Gilgamesh's Notes_: I'm actually a little embarrassed that I had to actually hold it before I realized that. Usually, I've obsessed over the next sword I'm going to gaffle from someone that I can tell it from a fake just by looking. I was under a lot of stress at the time, though...putting up with Aliel's constant griping (genuine Espers are such whiners, I tell you), commanding an Esper strike force, fighting for my life against Odin…I'm not surprised I didn't notice at first. Real disappointment, though, let me tell you.)

Odin did not stay put to witness Gilgamesh's joy turning to irritation. He turned and ran back to where he'd laid Gungnir down, and picked the mighty spear up, holding it in both hands. Armed once more, he turned back to Gilgamesh, who was still cursing.

"You have my sword as you wished, but I'm not ready to quit yet," Odin said, lifting his lance in challenge. "Come, face me as a warrior this time, instead of a paltry thief!"

Whether stung by the insult, or just violently irate about the stolen weapon not being all he had hoped, Gilgamesh answered Odin's challenge, running forward to attack. Odin raised his spear and readied himself. He felt the instinctual warrior hidden within him rising from dormancy, perhaps triggered by the fact that Odin was now armed with a weapon that he had not during this lifetime had much experience with wielding on foot, but had in a previous one.

Gilgamesh's first attack was made with both blades at once, crossing them horizontally and thrusting them forward as though to decapitate Odin with both at once.

(_Gilgamesh's Notes_: Yeah, I, uh, was pretty steamed about the fake Zantetsuken thing (it brought back some unpleasant memories involving Excalipoor), and I sort of forgot that I was supposed to be trying not to kill him.)

Although the Gungnir's shaft was carved from the best hardwood known to this world, and lined with several rings of steel all along it, Odin did not want to test whether it could block either the Scimitar or the Excalibur--and he was certain it could not halt both at once. So, instead of directly blocking them, he held his spear horizontally and raised it upwards, slamming it up against Gilgamesh's wrists. Gilgamesh's arms and the blades they held were forced upwards, over Odin's head. Odin immediately shifted his hold on his weapon, brought it down, and thrust it forward at Gilgamesh's ribs. The Esper's reflexes saved him, and he dodged to the side in time to avoid being wounded, but it was close enough that Gungnir's tip ripped some orange cloth from his outfit.

Having learned his lesson not to make a joint attack like the last one, Gilgamesh began to slash at him as he had before, with coordinated but not simultaneous strikes. Odin was a blur of elusive motion. He would move or duck a little to avoid one attack, and slam his spear's shaft against Gilgamesh's other arm as it made its strike. The Gungnir would thrust it safely away for a moment, then fly to meet the first arm's next attack to do the same to it, giving Odin a chance to dodge the next blow. This continued for a few minutes, with Gilgamesh scoring no hits but Odin too busy defending to make his own attack, when the opportunity Odin was waiting for arrived.

With his left arm, Gilgamesh performed a low, sweeping slash with the Scimitar, trying to hit Odin's kneecaps. Odin let go of Gungnir with his left hand, and quickly swung it to point downward with his right hand. He thrust it solidly into the ground, and Gilgamesh's attack was interrupted as his arm was stopped by the standing spear before the weapon he held could reach Odin. At the same time, Gilgamesh thrust his right arm forward, trying to impale Odin with the Excalibur. Odin side-stepped it. Both arms now free, Odin used one hand and grabbed hold of Gilgamesh's right arm as it reached the end of its attack's range, right near the wrist. The other hand Odin brought up below Gilgamesh's elbow. He slammed his fist into the elbow, while twisting the connected arm with his other hand. There was a sickening crack, and Gilgamesh screamed and cursed in pain.

(_Gilgamesh's Notes_: This is a gross exageration [sic. I maybe grunted in pain, at the most. Never screamed. I don't care what Aliel might tell you. She's a liar.)

Odin stepped back and retrieved his weapon, bringing it up to a ready stance. The Excalibur slid from Gilgamesh's grip, falling to the ground as the Esper's arm hung, loose and disturbingly angled. Gilgamesh seemed to get a grip on himself as Odin looked on, and ceased his yells.

"Well, you've broken my sword, and you've broken my arm. Thanks. I hope one of my healers can fix this thing. I think it's high time I stopped playing nice with you, you nasty jerk. Let's dance for real this time!" Gilgamesh said. He gathered his cloak to himself, then threw it open, and a second set of arms emerged from its folds, right below the first. The right was armed with a heavy hand axe, doubtless quite effective but not, as far as Odin could tell, unique and peerless, as Gilgamesh's swords had been. The left arm held what appeared for all the world to be a second Excalibur, but somehow, despite being a nearly perfect copy, it did not seem to hold the same majesty as the one Gilgamesh had used before. Something within Odin identified this blade as Excalipoor, and knew that it was nowhere near as mighty as the true legendary saber…although certainly as dangerous as any other regular sword would normally be.

The battle began anew, though it went much as it had before. Even for having three separate ways to attack his opponent, Gilgamesh continued to find it impossible to hit Odin. In fact, it seemed at times that this extra arm was more hindrance than help: Odin would sometimes manage to use the Gungnir's pole to force one arm's attack up or down at such an angle as to interrupt another arm's attack, and momentarily confuse Gilgamesh enough that Odin had an opening to make an attack of his own. His thrusts were quick and well-aimed, but Gilgamesh continued to evade most of them, and gather himself in that moment to launch a new series of strikes. On the occasion that Odin did score blood, it was a glancing blow only, a light scratch on the side as Gilgamesh leapt aside a second too slowly.

This was too ineffective. Odin would have to devise a new attack strategy if he wanted to achieve a quick victory. He waited for his opportunity, and in a moment it came. Gilgamesh tried a quick downward slash with Excalipoor, and Odin held Gungnir horizontally, letting the sword clang harmlessly against one of the steel rings circling the spear's handle near the butt of the weapon. As the sword did this, Gilgamesh made a sweeping chop at Odin's chest with his axe on the other side. Odin lifted his leg on the same side quickly and kicked out hard against the incoming attack. His steel boot slammed hard against the bottom of the axe's head. The impact was great enough that Gilgamesh lost his grip on the weapon, and it flew upwards a little, spinning in the air before falling to the ground. As the axe did so, Gilgamesh tried to stab his remaining free weapon forward, to slice Odin's throat with his own Scimitar. Odin simply twisted Gungnir upwards, to stand vertically instead of horizontally, and knocked the offensive away from hitting his neck by the length of a man's thumb. He then drew the spear back for an instant, then stabbed higher, sending Gungnir's head straight into Gilgamesh's higher left forearm. It slid through flesh, muscle, and bone easily, and its tip emerged bloodily from the other end of the Esper's limb. Odin retracted the weapon with vicious speed, and Gilgamesh hollered in agony once more, stepping back several paces and cradling his newly damaged arm to himself. Odin watched as he tested it, trying to move it forward while still holding Scimitar, and yelped in pain. The Scimitar slid from his grasp to the ground, and Odin resolved to watch his step from here on out to avoid accidentally treading on the growing number of sharp objects littering the ground.

Gilgamesh was apparently not ready to quit. With a furious yell, he ran at Odin, brandishing his remaining weapon, Excalipoor. Something about this action seemed off, though…even in his enraged state, Gilgamesh had to know he didn't stand much chance with only one weapon left, and that weapon being nothing more than Excalipoor. Odin cautiously raised his spear to meet the attack.

The Raiden boy's instincts turned out to be correct. The moment Excalipoor once again was stopped by the steel part of Gungnir's shaft, Gilgamesh's cloak rustled unnaturally, and two more arms, these ones lower than the rest, shot out, each gripping cruelly curved machetes. They each stabbed upwards at Odin's chest.

Odin immediately ducked down, angling his body as far back as possible as he did so. Even with his immediate reflexes, he could not manage to avoid the attack altogether, but thankfully, his armor was sufficient enough to repel the glancing blows from each blade, leaving him unharmed.

Down on the ground now with a moment to act before Gilgamesh could take advantage of his higher position, Odin leaned back, supporting himself with one hand, and launched a heavy kick straight at Gilgamesh's right knee. There was a sickening crunch, not for the first time, as bones were broken and relocated in Gilgamesh's body, and Gilgamesh, also not for the first time, yelled in pain, as he tried to maintain his balance.

Odin foiled this attempt, however, as, once he had both feet back on ground, he lifted Gungnir and drove it as forcefully as he could up into the part of Gilgamesh's cloth-obscured body where he judged the lowest left arm connected to Gilgamesh. His intuition was true as the spear tore through the inhuman joint, so hard that the arm was very nearly torn from its socket by the force. Although the limb remained attached (if too damaged to be used any further), the weight of the thrust was more than enough to send Gilgamesh toppling onto his back.

Odin stood and stepped a few paces back, breathing evenly as he made it clear to Gilgamesh that he would not press his attack until the many-armed man had had a chance to get back up. Gilgamesh let out another curse as he realized that only three of his six arms could be moved without excruciating, crippling pain, and of those three, only two currently held weapons. He struggled up to his feet.

He was almost fully standing when Odin smashed the butt of his spear into his face. Gilgamesh collapsed backward, completely taken by surprise. A fighter on the ground might prepare himself to defend against an opponent trying to take advantage of the compromising position, but once that opponent did not press the attack, the fighter always assumed that he would be fully allowed to get back up before the battle resumed. No one ever expected to be hit halfway through the process.

(_Gilgamesh's Notes_: Remember when I said that Odin made a cheap shot before? I take it back. That wasn't a cheap shot. THIS was a cheap shot. That guy plays dirty.)

As Gilgamesh crashed against the ground, Odin stood over him, held his lowest right arm down beneath his boot, and plunged Gungnir down into the arm right at the elbow. Gilgamesh raised Excalipoor and thrust it desperately at Odin, but the human warrior leapt back, ripping his weapon from Gilgamesh's arm as he did so. He backed up several paces now, giving Gilgamesh a real opportunity this time to rise to his feet. Gilgamesh was down to two functioning arms and only one weapon, so Odin was hoping that the Esper might be willing to surrender now, and wanted to give him the chance to do so.

Gilgamesh had other ideas. He quickly got to his feet, favoring his uninjured leg, and faced Odin. His middle right arm, the one Odin had knocked the axe out of, reached into Gilgamesh's cloak for a moment. It then flew forward, hurling a shuriken at Odin.

Odin deftly moved his spear's shaft to intercept the small, whirling, bladed star, and it bounced harmlessly off. He then moved the spear again to block the next one, and the next one. Gilgamesh's arm was a blur of movement as it reached into his cloak and tossed the next shuriken it retrieved from the clothing's depths, and his aim, though, always precisely targeting Odin, was sporadic in which part of his opponent was targeted. Odin's spear was as much a blur of motion, circling up, down, and all around to block each sharp missile. For a moment, it was a stalemate.

Then Gilgamesh threw one star low, right at Odin's crotch, and another a half-second later high, straight for Odin's head. Odin straightened his spear to stand straight up to block both. The moment the first hit and was thwarted, Odin swung the spear's end forward, hitting the high incoming projectile with just the right angle and speed to not only deflect it, but knock it right back to its sender. Gilgamesh did not even realize the shuriken was coming, until it flew along his outstretched palm (he had just flung another star, which was also easily stopped by Odin's lance), and down along his arm, tearing a deep, jagged, bloody wound all the way to his elbow, and embedding itself in the flesh right above the joint. Gilgamesh grunted in pain, raised the red-streaked arm, flexed it slightly, and let out a yelp of pain as he realized that it was no longer in any condition to properly hold or use a weapon.

Gilgamesh looked down at himself, taking note of each one of his crippled and/or profusely bleeding arms, hanging limply at his side or cradled painfully to his chest. His eyes stopped as they saw that the only functional arm that he had left held Excalipoor.

"Oh cruel irony," he muttered.

(_Gilgamesh's Notes_: There are times when I just really hate that sword. Don't ask me why I can't bring myself to get rid of it. I don't know.)

"Do you yield?" Odin demanded. He would fight to Gilgamesh's death if need be, but he hoped that the humanoid Esper would surrender before that was necessary. It would save time, and with that time, lives…and, for some reason, even though the Esper had been trying to kill him just minutes before, Odin somehow felt a strange, but strong, kinship with this creature, a feeling he had only in this life known in relation to Princess Frigg: friendship.

"Yield. Yeah. I guess that would probably be a good idea at this point," Gilgamesh said, his tone a mixture of pain and dejection. "Aliel?"

The Esper requested flew down to Gilgamesh, having watched the entire ordeal, and made a questioning response.

"Have everyone pull back. Right now. And get anyone who knows healing magic to report to me immediately. Tell them I've got a real challenge for them: putting me back together."

(_Gilgamesh's Notes_: I may talk smack about them a lot, since they were such arrogant, stuffy jerks most of the time, but those Espers can do some remarkable doctoring with their spells. They managed to completely fix that body of mine, which was no small feat after the number Odin did on me.

But dang. Espers can move mountains, conjure hurricanes, and decimate entire cities with fire and lightning, but ask them to do something actually USEFUL with their magic, like get all the blood stains out of your clothes after being hacked to ribbons by some nut with a spear, and you're in for disappointment. Took me MONTHS to get that outfit clean.)

---------------------

Gilgamesh was true to his word: the Espers made an immediate withdrawal, all leaving via Terrato's unnatural cavern that they had emerged from originally. The creatures were, at the very least, honorable to their commander's orders, and did not so much as swipe at a single human on the way off the battlefield. In fact, they left with such absolute peacefulness, that they did not even seek any retribution when one human archer, who would later be toasted as a hero, was dishonorable enough to shoot an arrow straight into the neck of a retreating minotaur-like Esper. Whether the shot was one of skill or luck was hard to determine, but either way, the Esper collapsed to the ground, coughed bloodily for a moment, and then, in the usual flash of light, became Magicite.

For Odin, the "victory" was hollow. Half of the entire military force stationed here was dead, and a fifth of the rest were so badly wounded that they would die soon after being laid on a hospital bed. Thanks in large part to Odin, a record number of Espers had been slain in the battle--but a dozen and one Espers dead seemed a trifle, when weighed against the ended lives of hundreds of men. Military analysts would later deem this one of the most successful battles fought thus far in the war. If this was the best success humanity could manage, then Odin knew the race was hopelessly doomed.

And, of course, there was another reason why the day's victory was sour to the young man.

"It was incredible, Mr. Raiden, sir! There were about a hundred men, huddled like rabbits in a circle, and I was in there. We were surrounded by four Espers, one on each side of the compass, and three of them had some sort of--some sort of green, glowing wall formed around us on their side, so we were trapped. The only way out was guarded by this enormous, giant…demon thing!" chattered the young soldier that Odin was following. The boy, who could not possibly have seen more than fifteen summers, had been sent to fetch Odin. Odin would have preferred to have ridden Sleipnir to wherever they were going, but the horse was desperately needed by the military leaders left alive after this encounter, to transport grievously wounded men who still had a chance to recover to whatever local hospitals, doctors' offices, and even inns had space for them.

"This demon Esper, his hands were glowing with lightning, and the way he looked at us--we all knew, we just knew, he was going to kill us all, send the lightning into us and fry every one of us. And then the demon turns, and we see this chariot coming right at him. The Esper blasts the chocobos, but the chariot keeps going, and slams into the thing, knocking both of them over. Then your father Niod jumps out with a mace, and clubs the thing to death. Before the other three monsters can realize what's going on, he's got a hatchet out, and he throws it straight at one of them. Bam, it gets her right between the head, she's gone before she hits the ground. At this point, one of the other two moves the wall so it's between us and him and his buddy. We would've all been dead for sure if your father hadn't been there. After that…"

They reached their destination, and Odin saw what he had been brought to see. Niod was sitting, leaning back against a tree to support himself. His armor was gone, its parts laying scattered around him, most twisted and broken. The clothing he wore underneath the armor was torn and soaked with blood, blood that was flowing from dozens of deep gashes and puncture wounds littering his body. One of his arms ended in a bloody stump, and the other had had a chunk of flesh torn away, probably by an Espers's fanged jaws, so much that Odin could see straight to the bone. Niod's face was as much a mess as the rest of him; blood ran like drool from his mouth to his chin, and dribbled off it, while the blood flowing from a gash above his upper eyebrow almost managed to disguise the fact that he no longer had that side's eye.

Odin didn't need his guide to finish his sentence. It was abundantly clear what had happened after that. The other Esper had wrecked him.

But amazingly, he was still alive.

He saw Odin's approach with his remaining eye, and, slurring his words through the blood and a jaw that no longer wanted to move, said, "Think this's bad? Should see…the other guy."

Odin knelt down before Niod, and the older Raiden forced himself to continue, using his last energy to keep talking. "Heard you…killed a few of'em…'s not bad…gotta get…dozen if you want…beat me."

Niod Raiden had always been a brutish, abusive father. He had at the best of times been domineering and unreasonable, and all the rest of the time, a violent, obsessive bully. He had pushed Odin into a dangerous life for his own glory, and denied him a childhood and education as best he could. He had hit him, insulted him, and degraded him.

But he was still Odin's father, and, despite everything, even though it made no sense, even though Odin would never have been able to justify it, he still loved Niod. For the first and last time in his life, tears came to Odin Raiden's eyes, and ran down his cheeks. He wanted to say something, anything, but for the life of him, he could not find the right words with which to do so.

Niod saw the tears on Odin's face, and was appalled. The satisfaction he'd felt for what he'd heard the boy had accomplished this day disappeared, and was replaced by angry disappointment that his son could be capable of showing such weakness.

It was the last feeling he ever had. His body had nothing more to give, and the animal ferocity in Niod Raiden's eyes was finally tamed. He died angry and discontent…and thus his soul did not make its way to the vessel destined for the after-life, as it should have. Instead, the dark, dissatisfied emotions drew it, as was the case of a great many of the other souls of that day's victims, to an abomination known as Wrexsoul. It would join thousands of other miserable souls for over a thousand years of tortured limbo, until it is released by Wrexsoul's fall at heroes' hands…as has been prophesized by Alexander.

Odin saw Niod's death through tear-stained eyes. His tears increased, and he reached forward, lifting the still warm body slightly. And, for the first time in any lifetime of his, Odin willingly gave a hug.

---------------------

_Simon's Notes_: I have but one comment to add to this, and I can only hope it shall not be detrimental to this moving passage. I find it interesting that this part of the narrative contains the first occasion in which the author has used the present tense, rather than the past, seen when describing Alexander's prophecy regarding Wrexsoul and Niod Raiden's soul. It seems to imply that, as of the ancient time during which this document was written, it had not yet occurred. I wonder if it has happened by now, or whether it is still to transpire? It is difficult to date this tale, so either is possible.


	15. Chapter 14: The Tides of Fate Change

_Note_: Don't own the crap, don't make crap off of writing crap about'em, don't sue me for crap.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin, ****C****hapter 14**

_By The RPGenius_

Immediately following the restoration of order in the military camp that Odin had saved, the survivor of the Raiden legacy was sent back to Lokithor Castle, for two separate reasons.

The first and most pressing was for Niod's burial rites. Regardless of his unpopular position with the king's court and the high officers of the Lokithor military, Niod was considered a war hero several times over for his past and most recent battle feats, and thus, his body warranted a place of honor in the small, privileged cemetery within the castle walls, and a rather showy, if very sparsely attended, military ceremony of honor during the burial. It was fanfare that Odin would have found pointless and excessive for himself, but he knew Niod would have demanded no less. In fact, Odin was fairly certain that Niod would have demanded a great deal more.

The second reason Odin was sent back to the first and only place he had felt comfortable describing as home was to attend a small, private ceremony honoring his achievements on the field of battle (eyewitnesses had confirmed Odin's impressive victories over each Esper he came across, as well his having saved the entire camp with his deal with Gilgamesh), receiving a medal symbolizing the nation's highest level of military recognition. It was, of course, something Odin attended against his will, and he felt it was wasted on a soldier who had simply performed his duties to the best of his abilities--for that was simply his job.

It could have been far worse for him, though. The ceremony was held outside of the public eye, with no more than the bare minimum of spectators present to make it official. They explained to him later, apologetically, that public recognition was impossible at this time. The public, first of all, had no interest in seeing a Mage Warrior made into a war hero, being generally distrustful of the hybrids. Secondly, it was uncomfortably explained to Odin that what had happened during what was now being called the Battle of Folding Plains was not common knowledge, and that as few details would be made known about it as possible to avoid adding fire to the spark of panic that all remaining human countries' citizens tried to resist in those desperate times. Odin didn't like that; the time he'd spent listening to many of the great literary minds' works of this world as Frigg read or described them to him had given him a strong appreciation for the rights of others to information. But it was not something he could change, it was not something he would even know how to change, so he said nothing.

After these personal duties were over with, Odin was technically ready to rejoin the front lines; however, the issue of where he would go delayed his departure. The camp he had come from was in the process of being disseminated into the other great armies, being, in the military generals' eyes, undermanned for any further military procedures. The other two large military camps each had a representative here in the castle, and each one was committed to having Odin sent to his group, both because of the confidence boost that having Niod Raiden's son in their midst would give the troops there, and because Odin had proven himself to be a rather deadly asset independent of his father's reputation, as well. The debate on his placement continued for weeks, and Odin went nowhere, living in the barracks as he had before becoming a Mage Warrior, and spending his time practicing in the same training yard that Niod had made him train in, during the same hours that Niod had made him train during. It was not fun, but it was familiar, and it gave Odin some time to reflect.

It was hard for him, as the days passed by and his mind sorted itself out as he boxed with phantom opponents, or performed dozens of Atom Edges consecutively to test his magical stamina's limits, to "come to terms" with his father's death, when he had no idea how to understand the feelings he was meant to come to terms with.

Part of him--a large part--had no problem with it. It recognized the tyrant that Niod had been, it did not miss the abuse that the man had perpetually given Odin, and it insisted that there had been no cause for Odin to feel remorse for his death. He had died, as many others had died that day, and the only thing that could possibly make his death any more unfortunate than theirs was that his meant the loss of a greater military asset.

And at first, Odin paid attention only to this side of him, willingly shutting out any other feelings he had. This was the only way he understood to deal with loss, and other negative emotions. Cold analysis in place of unproductive sadness was what he was comfortable with, and his logic-driven mentality had, in many instances, helped him to survive. It was only natural that, for such a huge thing as losing his father, he should lose control of himself momentarily as he had, but that was a temporary abnormality, nothing more.

This denial only lasted a few days, for Odin could not long pretend that he was being logical when he was ignoring the truth that he _did_ feel, and _was_ feeling, tremendous emotion only barely restrained by his denial of it.

And when the sadness hit him again, it was followed by anger. Odin did not know this feeling of loss, did not understand it, and he did not _want_ it. He found himself intensely irate at everything (and the training yard's walls, trees, and practice dummies suffered for this for several days). He hated being sad, he hated not knowing how to deal with it, he was angry at Niod for being the catalyst for this, annoyed with himself for letting it get to him, and most of all furious at, frustrated with, and incapable of accepting the fact that the comforting, cold logic that had always protected him with its distance from all emotional disturbances could no longer be relied on.

He got to such a state of distraction that, for a brief period one day, he was so unable to reconcile his reasonless love and overwhelming sadness with the strong warrior that he felt he should be, that he felt he MUST be, that he briefly considered the notion that these alien feelings must have originated from the part of his mind that had such inexplicable, instinctual knowledge of Espers and combat. He wished he could reason with it, somehow, to strike some kind of bargain with himself to make it cease flooding him with this intolerable feeling. But almost as soon as he'd thought it, he admitted to himself that it was a silly idea. Whatever the hidden part of Odin's mind might be, it was obviously even more coldly analytical and used to repulsing emotions than Odin Raiden himself was; to imagine that these feelings had originated from it was nonsensical.

This realization, however, led to a feeling of depression that stayed with him for the better part of two weeks. There was no way to avoid such powerful feelings of sadness--he could not run from himself, could not force sorrow away, and there was no one to ask mercy of when the agony was of his own unwilling creation. How could he continue on as he had before, when he felt so acutely this crushing feeling? Even if it passed, how could he go on knowing that such feelings of loss could be experienced? And in such dark times, the chances that he would lose others he cared for was high. How did people, the regular people surrounding him every day, manage to continue on when they felt and knew such things so much more often? Niod had always sneered down at the common man as being weak and incapable when compared to himself and his offspring, yet they somehow had a strength that Odin lacked, one that he had only a vague glimpse of through Princess Frigg's stories and studies, a strength of character.

Niod had been wrong, Odin realized one day, and so had his instincts. What made a man strong to others and himself, what was truly important and essential, must not simply have been disciplined strength. Oh, duty, strength, and discipline were immensely important, to be sure, virtues which Odin would never cease to believe in…but there must be something more, too. In the years he'd spent with Princess Frigg, he'd gotten a glimpse of its happier side, enjoying her company and learning alongside her, and it had been fun. But though it had been the thing to lure him into opening himself to a new way of thinking, happiness was only one side of this part of humanity, and Odin had never before understood how to appreciate it until he'd experienced its opposite. Just as peace was taken for granted until one had experienced war, happiness surely was valued best after knowing despair. That must have been the secret, or at least one of many secrets, to how to withstand the assault of one's own heavy heart--to look to the future, and keep hoping for something better, something that would make one happy again.

And that was what Odin resolved to do. He had loved his father, and it hurt to lose him. But he could not allow that pain to dominate him, for he was needed by his countrymen, and he _should_ not allow it to, for he knew happy contentment, as well, and it would surely come to him again, should he be ready to let it.

And so it was, about one month after Niod's passing, that Odin waited in the castle for redeployment a more complete man than he ever had been before, having, after (unknown to him) thousands of years and a whole new life, finally had an opportunity to accept his humanity. Although he did feel somewhat lonely now (Odin was not accustomed to being by himself all day; for all his faults, Niod had at least been an ever-present companion to his son…even though most of the time Odin would have been far happier had he not been), Odin concentrated on keeping up with his training regimens, and occupied his thoughts with the pleasant hope that perhaps he would some day have the opportunity to see Princess Frigg again.

So he was quite pleased when that opportunity happened to come later that very day.

--

Fate, it seemed, was not without a certain sick sense of humor. The great relief King Adrin very clearly felt at never again having to put up with his bullying was short-lived…literally. It was only three weeks minus a day after Niod was killed in combat that King Adrin went to bed and did not rise the following morning. His heart had failed him as he slept peacefully, and his body was cold by the morning.

The former king's court was quick and careful to keep the turn of events unknown to the common man in the days following King Adrin's passing, making themselves, a few of the castle's more trustworthy servants, and of course Princess Frigg the only ones in the country to know that it had no ruler. The morale of Lokithor's citizens and soldiers was, as it was in all the other remaining human countries, not very high, and adding uncertainty about the nation's present and future leadership would only worsen the situation. The king's death would be made known to the public soon, and proper burial rites would be given to him, but first, the late king's advisors had to be satisfied that King Adrin's heir was capable of taking on the duties of being (likely the very last) ruler of Lokithor.

This was the matter which the new, as-yet-publicly-unrecognized Queen Frigg talked to Odin about as they took a private walk through the castle. She had wished to see him, and now that she was queen, her wishes overruled the misgivings any official might have about her consorting with a Mage Warrior.

She was, Odin observed, remarkably composed for someone who had just lost her father. In fact, Odin even felt a little shame at his own previous emotional weakness by comparison--after losing a father who had shown little fondness for him during his entire life, Odin had been an emotional wreck, yet Queen Frigg had lost a loving, attentive (as best he could be) father, but was collected and calm. Not for the first time, Odin felt an admiration for her strength in a subject that he even now had little understanding of.

"They want me to have a clear plan for our country's survival, before they recognize me as their new ruler," Queen Frigg told him as they walked down an empty corridor. "They expect me to have new ideas about everything! How to keep the people calm, where to find more food, chocobos, and steel for our soldiers, what to do about all the wounded when our hospitals and doctors are beyond their limits already, who I want appointed as my own court--I think some of them are so overworked and hopeless about our future that they're actually hoping I'll want to replace them, so that they can flee to a "safer" country…as if any is going to be safe for long. They even want me to come up with ideas for how to fight the Espers more effectively! You know I don't have any real understanding of combat, Odin!"

She heaved a sigh, and rubbed her temples, slowing her pace. Odin had never seen her like this, weighed down with duty and the knowledge that she was now responsible for thousands of lives. She looked…regal, a sovereign who knew full well what she was getting into.

"What they wish of me is to come up with a plan to win the war, all on my own," she said, her tone despairing at the thought of it.

Queen Frigg no longer seemed to care what direction they took, so Odin decided on a whim to take her to the Raidens' private training yard.

"Well, _do_ you have any ideas?" Odin asked as he began to lead their walk.

Queen Frigg was silent for a few moments, then said, "Yes."

Odin waited for her to go on, knowing that she hated to be hurried.

"We need to get the support of Lashnin, first of all. My father never managed it, but…well, I don't think he ever tried hard enough to do so. But we can't keep going as we have been; we _need_ its resources. If we only had their support, the problem of having enough steel for swords and food for soldiers would be solved--they've been hoarding their resources in preparation for our fall for a long time, longer than they thought we'd last, so they have plenty to spare. And if we could win over Garruk, too--"

"Garruk?" Odin interrupted, as they stepped outside into the isolated area where he and Niod had always trained.

"Oh, Odin, how can you just not know these things?" Queen Frigg responded, her tone a mixture of exasperation, incredulity, and old amusement at some of the things Odin could be ignorant of. "Garruk is the country second closest to us, right along the northern border of Lashnin. They're infamous for raising chocobos…which means that if they supported us, and gave us the chocobos we need, we could better move supplies and the wounded to where they need to go. There are plenty of clinics and hospitals in our country that are just too far away from the frontlines for many of our hurt soldiers to get to; with more chocobos, more of the ones who aren't hurt so badly could get to the more distant doctors, and free up space for the closer ones to treat more seriously injured patients."

Odin nodded his understanding, leading the walk to one of the more open spaces in the yard.

"As for new advisors and officials, well…most of them I want to keep. I…I know that Daddy wasn't always…a competent king," Queen Frigg continued, making a noticeable effort to keep the sorrow out of her voice. "I know it was more them than him that kept us going for this long…and besides, I've grown up knowing each of them and how they think. That means that they'll be much more manageable than having to oversee people I don't know. The only person I'd replace is…my father's personal military advisor."

Odin detected some hesitation in his companion's voice, and slowed their pace until she was ready to continue.

"Odin," Queen Frigg asked him earnestly, "would you be my advisor?"

Odin was quite shocked by the idea. He was, after all, a common soldier at best, and a suspected traitor in the eyes of many. "Me? Why me, Prin--er, Queen?"

"It's going to take some getting used to, being called a queen instead of a princess now," Queen Frigg thought aloud, before replying, "Because I know that you know more about it than he did. I've listened to you explaining war for years; just because I don't understand most of it, that doesn't mean that I can't tell that you do. I saw you fight an Esper by yourself and win once, and I've heard that you accounted for nearly half of the ones our forces killed in that last battle. You know what fighting them is like. And I think it would be an excellent way to help make my people accept me initially, if they know that I'll have the aid of Niod Raiden's son. I'll have to do a good job to keep that trust, but at least it won't be as much of an uphill struggle."

"But I am not trusted," Odin pointed out, leading the two of them again to the open area of the training yard. "I am a Mage Warrior."

"Most of the people outside the castle don't know that," Queen Frigg told him. "And anyways…I think maybe that will be a good thing. If I show a Mage Warrior such trust, it might lead to others letting go of this stupid paranoia against warriors like you."

"If you wish it, then I cannot refuse," Odin told her as they reached the center of the area Odin had been leading them to. "I accept your request, Queen."

Queen Frigg smiled with relief and excitement. "Wonderful! I know you'll be great for the job. And the best part is that we'll get to see each other each day again! I've missed talking to you, ever since you had to go and become a Mage Warrior…even though I told you not to," she said with exaggerated annoyance.

"I did it so I could better protect you and your kingdom," Odin told her.

"Yes, I know. I thought something like that was probably the reason. But I was still pretty angry about it!" she informed him, smiling to dispel any doubt that she was still angry.

"I'm sorry," Odin replied, a smile tugging at his lips, as well.

"I forgive you. Just don't let it happen again." And then she sighed, and her jovial tone was lost, replaced once more with a sober determination.

"But for everything to work…we need a victory, Odin. A real, genuine victory. And I need you to help me get that."

"A victory?" Odin asked, as he unsheathed his Scimitar and held it up in the air, letting the sun's light brightly reflect off of it.

"Yes. The last battle you were in showed the world that we can hold our own…but if I'm to have our people's trust, I need to give them a definitive victory over the Espers that will convince them that I can be relied on. If I'm to convince other nations to support us, rather than just use us as a decoy while they get ready to defend only themselves, I need a victory that shows that we can not just endure, but win. And, if I'm to convince people to trust Mage Warriors, I need you to be the one to lead me to that victory. Everything I want to accomplish hinges on our being able to achieve something that hasn't been done for years…and…what are you doing, anyway?"

Odin blinked, and looked at the sword's blade that he held aloft. "I…have no idea."

Strange. He was not a man accustomed to whimsy…

"Wait…Odin? What's that?"

He looked to where his ruler pointed, and saw a black splotch against the sky. It was growing larger at an incredible rate, and within a second of seeing it initially, it was large enough to be identified as a dark dragon in flight. A second more, and it was close enough that it almost blocked out the sun with the shadow it cast over the two humans. And then it was there, slowing its approach to a halt and landing gracefully on its two back legs before the man and woman.

Dragons were, with a few exceptions, large creatures. But Odin could tell that this one was immense, even for its race. Dark scales capable of repelling attacks from even canonry more advanced than anything this world would know for thousands of years armored a savagely powerful frame. Giant, tearing claws that could rip apart layered steel several feet thick adorned bestial hands that could have enveloped a man as large as Odin with room to spare. Curved, cruel fangs studded a maw whose jaws could crush boulders to gravel. The enormous, dark leathered wings alone could have caused wind gusts strong enough to level small villages.

From beside him, Queen Frigg stared in utter, frozen horror at the monstrous beast before her, and Odin could do little more than she. He knew this dragon was an Esper. He knew its name was Bahamut. And he knew there was no way he could defeat it.

Bahamut turned his head slightly to rest his glare upon Queen Frigg. His eyes were savage and arresting, a tribute to his status as the king of dragons. Their gaze held a power beyond mortal ken…he was death incarnate, a force of unstoppable, inconceivable destruction that had no mortal peer. It was a credit to the new queen that she was only rooted to the spot in dumb terror, and did not faint, go mad, or simply die of fright. It did not matter that she could not find it in herself to run, for there was no running from the king of dragons unless he wished it.

Odin saw Bahamut's attention focus on Queen Frigg, and his mind snapped into action. He threw himself in front of her and held the Scimitar high. He knew it was a futile gesture, but perhaps he could take Bahamut's fatal attention for just a few moments, long enough for Queen Frigg to run indoors…though Odin doubted that all the forces in the castle could have stopped Bahamut anyways, should the great Esper decide to pursue her.

Bahamut's gaze changed to Odin. Odin was struck by the gaze as well, and suddenly, his mind replayed a hidden memory…

--

Leviathan had led Odin to the God of the Summoned that day, up to the high mountain top in the Land of the Summoned where Bahamut made his home. Odin had knelt before the dragon king, and Bahamut had spoken to him.

"Alexander's prophecy gives the Summoned an ideal chance to confront and destroy Lucavi…it is an opportunity that we cannot afford to miss," Bahamut had said, his voice loud and deep, as awesome as a deity's should be. "But no future is set in stone…and Alexander has seen one single obstacle that could disrupt everything. On the eve of victory, when the Espers are posed to triumph over humanity, one kingdom could still turn the tides of war and lead humanity to ultimate victory. As is often the way of fateful events, a single human being will be the one to change everything, and decide the future of the world: the queen of Lokithor.

"Thus shall you be given a special task in this mortal war which the Summoned deign to enter," Bahamut had continued. "You will be born true to yourself, a human, in Lokithor, with no memory of who you are. Fate shall see to it that you reunite with Sleipnir, and you shall see to it that you live to fulfill your mission. As a human, you shall gain the trust of your fellow people…and with that trust, you will lead the new queen away from safety. I shall be watching you from high above the clouds from the day she takes the crown. You shall give me a signal, and I shall descend to you, and restore your memory of who you are. The queen shall die, and we two shall bring her castle to ruin before rejoining the Espers."

Odin had nodded, and said, "As you wish, my lord."

And then Bahamut had fixed Odin with his stare, and the man remembered nothing more.

--

Until now. Odin was himself once more, the man who had fought Zodiac Monsters alone and triumphed, the warrior who had honed his skills nonstop for millennia, the Summoned who led the Knights of the Round Council. He knew his mission once more.

Odin stepped away to the side, and lowered his weapon, leaving Frigg standing alone before the great dragon king.

"O-Odin?" she squeaked, barely able to force her voice to say that much.

Bahamut watched Odin's removal, and then looked back at Frigg.

"_Boy, listen you to me, and listen well. You're young and stupid, and for that reason, I've told you to do as you're told and always respect your betters and their commands. You haven't the brains to know any better than them. But the truth is this: just because a man's king, it doesn't make him always right."_

Frigg managed to galvanize herself to take two steps back, but could not manage more. Running was pointless, anyways; Bahamut was faster than she was by far.

"_I know duty's important. But it's not everything! And following it regardless of what it asks of you isn't always the right thing to do!"_

Bahamut opened his maw slowly, letting its fang-filled gap make a natural, savage grin.

"_What about what YOU want? That matters, too!"_

Bahamut reared his head back a little, preparing to engulf the comparatively tiny human woman in a snare of fangs.

_"Well, sir, I suppose you must be correct in your judgment, for you are as perfect a knight as ever was. Still, I always thought that compassion and love completed a knight, not detracted from his abilities."_

There was a phenomenon of many worlds of this galaxy, during which a creature, almost always sentient, would suddenly, inexplicably gain access to arcane battle knowledge and heightened abilities that lay dormant within them, triggered by severe mental duress. Sometimes it was triggered by black rage that fed off the accumulated suffering of many battles' wounds. At other times, it was born from an all-encompassing emotional need to protect a loved one, or a totally consuming desire to succeed. There were many names for this strange state, such as Trance, Overdrive, Desperation, Ultimatum, and (inexplicably) Limit Break, amongst others, just as there were many causes. But the two unifying characteristics of this state were that it was always triggered by supreme emotional anxiety, and that the one experiencing it rarely had anything but a dim understanding of what he, she, or it was doing.

Bahamut's head shot forward to snap his jaws shut around the human queen. Though it was his most fervent need and wish to do so, Odin barely even realized that he was raising his sword, barely even recognized that it was his muscles that were bringing the Scimitar down in a flashing arc at Bahamut's neck. Had Odin had his wits about him, he would have known that it was a meaningless gesture, that the sword could never cause anything greater than discomfort to the dragon king, that Atom Edge was a meaningless gesture against a being of this power. But Odin was not, at that moment, capable of such calculated thought. At that instant in time, as his entire body glowed with the phenomena known by many names, only one thing crossed his mind, which he cried aloud as his blade came down on Bahamut's neck:

"True Edge!"

Atom Edge had no chance of harming the god of the Summoned. But True Edge had the Scimitar carve through Bahamut's scale, flesh, and bone as though through brittle, decayed paper. The dragon lord's head fell heavily to the ground before Frigg, larger than she herself, and the body it commanded crashed to the ground. The two pieces of a whole disappeared in a flash of light, and all that was left was a single, strange stone, no more singular than any dead Esper's.

Frigg collapsed to the ground herself, letting out a relieved sob as she shook and shed tears, the aftermath of her shock and horror. Odin followed her lead, and sank down to his knees, staring at the Magicite lying on the ground, so strangely harmless now.

What had he done?


	16. Chapter 15: First Understanding

_Disclaimer_: Really, doesn't the mere presence of a disclaimer say enough? I mean, if I actually did own the characters and settings and other crap in this fic--which I don't, of course--then I wouldn't HAVE a disclaimer, because even if I were profiting from writing this--which I'm not, of course--I'd be in my legal rights to do so, and not get sued for it--which I still shouldn't, of course.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

_By The RPGenius_

Odin sat on his cot in Lokithor's barracks

Odin sat on his cot in Lokithor's barracks. He had been sitting there for quite some time now, and doing very little else all the while. Of course, in a way, that was only logical, as he had absolutely no idea of what he _should_ do now.

How could this have happened? How could he have MADE this happen? Mere disobedience to the being that one had sworn warrior's fealty to was alone a serious crime in his mind…and he had just _slain_ his lord, unprovoked! What madness was it that had gripped his mind and his sword in that moment? How could he have even thought of committing such a heinous sin?

And that was part of his immense, despairing confusion. He _hadn't_ thought of doing it at all. Not really. There had been no idea of the reason, the consequences, the method, nothing! All he had known as he went for the very first time into his Overdrive, Trance, or whatever one wished to call it, was a desperate need to act as he had, and all he had felt was an instinctual necessity to protect Frigg, all that was in his mind had been memories of his lives here, at the world of the Summoned, and in Vallana.

Eventually, after sitting for a period of time which might very well have been hours, Odin realized that he was really getting nowhere with this. Although he did not understand it in any coherent way, the man realized on some level that his unhesitant act of disobeying one of his core, founding principles of life and discipline was not something he could come to terms with merely by sitting still and pondering, two actions that Odin had never in any of his three lives been particularly familiar with or fond of. He needed to be up, active, somewhere more comfortable to his tastes.

With this thought somewhere in the back of his otherwise entirely overcome mind, Odin abruptly rose to his feet, and made his way back to the outdoor training area that his father had set aside for them both.

No. Not his father, Odin rebuked himself. Niod Raiden was father to a body, not a man; his only relation to Odin was to have provided the immortal warrior a set of flesh to wear as his costume here. The only father Odin should call his own was the long-deceased King Idno. Niod was, Odin told himself, nothing more than a necessary tool, a minor pawn in the Summoned's designs, barely important in the events of his own world and certainly not worthy of note in the affairs of the cosmos. He should mean nothing to Odin.

But as Odin reached the training yard, his confusion and ire became compounded by the realization that what he told himself and knew was not the same as what he felt and believed. Try as he might, he could not shake the sensation that this place was where he had trained with his father, not simply where he had trained with just a man. And even though he knew that this yard should be nothing to him, a location in which he had spent not even a paltry twenty years of an existence that had spanned millennia, he could not deny that he felt more comfortable, more calm, more at home here than he ever had at his dwelling in the Land of the Summoned, despite the fact that he had lived there for longer than any civilization in this galaxy had existed.

He was still thinking as though he were Odin Raiden. He was still _feeling_ as though he were that non-existent mortal. But how could that be? He was Odin, the Summoned! Odin, leader of the Knights of the Round Council! Odin, unparalleled warrior in all the known galaxy! Less than twenty years' experience could surely not supplant that of millennia!

And yet, it most certainly had, somehow. Or at the very least, the personality of Odin Raiden had become the dominant part of Odin as a whole. But how?

Perhaps it was only because he had regained his memories and persona so recently. His original priorities and values might still reassert themselves as dominant, given a little more time for his mind to sort his lives out. After that…he would be able to figure out what to do then, surely. Once his mind was back on track, he would know how to deal with this situation, and properly enact his lord Bahamut's will in a way that could make up for his disgraceful betrayal. Bahamut was not known for having a forgiving temperament, but undoubtedly he would understand that Odin had simply been too confused by his flood of memories to know what he was doing at the time. Odin clutched to this hope desperately, knowing no possible alternative to this situation.

"Odin?" came a familiar voice behind him. He turned, and saw Frigg.

--

"She thinks Bahamut hypnotized me," Odin said. He was in the castle stables now, standing before Sleipnir's resting area and relating all that had happened, while Sleipnir ate and listened patiently. "She's convinced that he had my mind in his control and forced me to step aside, and that I managed to overcome it and strike him down."

Sleipnir continued eating without giving any response, letting Odin continue. The man stood silent for a moment, then said, "I pledged myself to her."

Sleipnir slowed his chewing, and looked at Odin with some interest now. "I didn't have Gungnir with me, so I couldn't go through all the proper motions of it, as I did for King Idno, and Lord Bahamut…but I meant it just as much. More. I want Frigg to live. I want her to succeed. And I want to be with her to see it."

He frowned. "Even though it means betraying my lord, and my duty…and even though I know that her death could mean the safety of a galaxy's worth of lives. It is fundamentally wrong to me, but I want it nonetheless.

"I'm still Odin Raiden, as much as I am myself," Odin continued. "I didn't understand why before, and I only have a vague idea about it now. It's…the things I've experienced in this life. I've…learned, and felt things, living here, that I never allowed myself to experience before. I considered them weaknesses, unnecessary distractions from one's duty as a warrior and guardian. And yet…now that I know the kinds of joy, and sadness, and…exhilaration, that other people feel, I can't give them up. I care more for this kingdom, these people, this life, than I've ever cared for anything in all the thousands of years I've existed. I think that's why, at that moment, it was Odin Raiden who acted, and overcame all other parts of me to strike down Lord Bahamut…because in these few years of life, he'd become a much more complete person than I ever was. No less dedicated a warrior, but…just as Oth said that day long ago, a far more complete one.

"So I will stay here," he finished resolutely. "I will stay, and my loyalty shall now be to Frigg. She is the person that helped me to discover these sensations, the queen that can save this kingdom that I have experienced so much within…and a friend as important and dear to me as you are, faithful Sleipnir. For that alone, I'll face anything for her safety."

Sleipnir had ceased eating altogether, and come over to gently nuzzle his head against Odin's gauntleted hand. Now Odin sighed, and dropped his hand to his side, away from his horse's affections. "But," he began gravely, now addressing Sleipnir more directly than he had during his previous rambling explanation, "this means that I will face the Espers in battle many more times, and I will be this time a direct enemy of the Summoned. There will be no more small tests and skirmishes, as with Fenrir and Golem. Even Gilgamesh was likely only a taste of the force the Summoned will throw at me once they have realized my betrayal. The Espers alone are a force I cannot be sure of defeating, and the Summoned are some of the most powerful beings in this part of the cosmos…Esper forms are like Shades, so most will not be at their full strength, but then, I am in a teenaged body that has undergone largely flawed training for all its life. I am not even at a quarter of my own strength. And even if I succeed, and the Espers and the Summoned are thwarted…Odin Raiden is still mortal. I'll live another sixty years at the very most. Once I die, I will be returned the Land of the Summoned, and there they shall surely exact retribution for my traitorous aggressions.

"But I have made my decision now, knowing the consequences. I am prepared for my eternal punishment, for the chance of a few decades of living here, as I am now, with Frigg as my queen.

"You, however," Odin told his steed, "should not be forced to take punishment for my choice, Sleipnir. If you wish it, I will attach a note to your saddle, and take you to the last battlefield of the Espers. From there, I am sure you can find your way to wherever they make their encampment in this region. The note will be written in one of the arcane languages of another world's civilization, so that only one of the Summoned may read it, and it will tell of my traitorous decision, and tell them of your innocence, while urging them to spare you any mistreatments better directed at me."

Sleipnir gave a loud whinny of clear protest, stomping loudly several times to emphasize his disagreement with this plan.

"You should not be made to suffer for my foolishness, old friend," Odin tried to convince him. But Sleipnir would not hear it. The horse gave another protesting whinny, and moved his head to rub reassuringly against the side of Odin's own head. The message was clear: Sleipnir was, as ever, to be his loyal companion, through the best and the worst.

"Thank you, my dear friend," Odin said quietly. He raised his hand to pet the horse for a moment. Then he left, to go meet with Frigg and outline what he would need to bring about the military victory she desired from him. He had much to do.


	17. Chapter 16: First Victory

_Author's Note_: I don't own anything I mention that's owned by someone else. I also don't make money off of anything I mention that someone else makes money off of. Don't sue me.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

Chapter 16

_By The RPGenius_

A decisive victory. In a time of war, it was one of the highest prizes sought by all sides. This golden treasure of imbalanced death and destruction strengthened one's position, weakened the strength of one's foes, and lessened their resolve and morale just as it increased them for one's own forces. And sometimes, its indirect contributions to the war as a trophy on display could be just as valuable as its direct influences.

This latter use was what Frigg hoped most to gain from the excursion that Odin was now engaged in. She had charged him, as his first duty as her military advisor, to achieve a sizable victory, a prize to show to Lashnin and the other nations to gain their attention, acceptance, and perhaps admiration, and through that, their assistance. Of course, such a success was expected to be difficult to achieve. Few skirmishes existed in this war in which the side of humans gained a distinct victory, and all had been during its early stages. Frigg knew, and apologized for, the unreasonable difficulty of achieving a distinct victory. Odin planned to give her one far better than any seen so far.

Unfortunately, the first part of his plan to achieve this victory was somewhat out of his hands. Although he had some small knowledge of the art of tracking, Odin was no expert on following the trail of others, particularly not of prey as intelligent and irregular as Espers. Thus, his plan's fate was in the hands of Sansar, expert hunter turned by conscription to average soldier.

They were currently traversing through the eerily silent caverns that had been created by Terrato as a way for the Espers to take the human camp by surprise in the battle that Odin had managed to end alone. Nineteen men followed Odin and Sansar only a few feet behind, nervous but ready. They were part of the sixty soldiers that Frigg had managed to procure for Odin to track, find, and eliminate the Espers that had withdrawn from that battle. A paltry number by conventional wisdom; a mere sixty would be fortunate to defeat even a single Esper and survive with anything more than half a dozen left. But, if Odin's plan went smoothly, sixty would be more than enough to engage and defeat multiple Espers. He had not even brought Sleipnir along on this mission, not knowing whether there would be battles in the enclosed tunnels, where Sleipnir would for once be a detriment to maneuverability rather than a boon.

Sansar stopped abruptly, and Odin had those in his command do the same. He watched for a moment as the man peered intently at the earth ahead of them, and then at the cave's walls. He walked to the left, and began to intently examine the wall, prodding it and feeling the rocks that made it up. After a moment, he turned to Odin.

"Commander Odin? Th' wall, it's covrin' th' real path, sir. Everthin' ahead'a us's dug diffrent. Th' snake you killed never came from that way, 'n whoever dug it 'as goin' th' way we are, not comin' t'ward th' battlefield. Th' snake path goes on left through th' wall, and it's looser 'ere, not solid like it oughta be. I think they must've tried t' cover their tracks in case we came after'em, and made up a wall t' throw us off," Sansar explained.

Odin frowned. In all his efforts to form a battle plan for his soldiers when they engaged their target, he had not actually thought much about the process of reaching them, putting too much faith in a single tracker to handle any and all obstacles on the way.

"Don't spose we could go back 'n get some shovels?" Sansar suggested, a small note of hope in his voice. He was not too eager to be part of such a tiny force on a mission to defeat the better part of an Esper war party, and he had been chosen to be a part of it by his tracking abilities, unlike the rest of the assembled soldiers. Due to the dangerous nature of this assignment, Odin had selected for most of his sixty soldiers men with an outspoken, intractable hatred for Espers, ones who had lost too much in the war to ever forgive...men whose anger outweighed their wish for survival, who would not run from their hated foes regardless of the odds or situation.

This late in the war, they had not been especially difficult to find.

"We cannot. Too much time lost; this operation is already occurring far too late as it is. Step aside and let me see," Odin ordered.

Sansar did as told, and Odin examined the wall. His subordinate had been right; the wall was, when observed closely, quite obviously artificial. Many large rocks were stacked almost clumsily onto one another and had smaller rocks and some dirt shoved into the cracks between them to fill the space. The shoddiness of the work was apparent, but doubtless the Espers had planned for the false pathway of the continuing tunnel to throw any pursuers off.

Odin removed Scimitar from its sheath. He studied the wall before him critically for a moment, and then swung his blade against it, using Atom Edge to effortlessly carve through stone and earth. He then made several more cuts, until pieces of the loose wall could be removed by his soldiers at his direction. He repeated the process again and again, forming from the chunks of rock being removed a passage through the earthen barrier. Loose dirt that fell into the space created was easily scooped aside, and the many rocks that became unbalanced and tumbled down were either lifted away by the soldiers, or were also cut through by Odin's Esper ability.

Finally, there was nothing more obstructing his way, and the path through the stone and dirt was wide and stable enough to pass his forces through easily. The tunnel that Terrato had created did not go much further from that point; it was only a few minutes of travel before Odin and his men could see daylight ahead.

The moment he could be relatively sure that the light was coming from an exit further ahead, Odin had his procession stop immediately. He called Sansar and two soldiers to himself, and instructed them to go back down the tunnels and make sure that the other soldier groups had followed at the proper distance. Happy to be away from the foremost group if only for a short time, Sansar began retracing his steps.

Odin only had nineteen of his sixty soldiers with him, but the rest were also in this tunnel. His plan of attack necessitated three groups of roughly twenty men to be separated, with the first group, led by Odin, locating the correct path and Esper targets, while the second followed behind far enough away that they could just barely see the torches of Odin's group. The third group would follow the second in the same way.

While Sansar was away coordinating each team, Odin decided to do some reconnaissance. He ordered his troops to stay put, and cautiously proceeded toward the light of the exit. He made sure to go slowly, to give his eyes time to adjust to the increasing light. As luck would have it, the tunnel sloped rather sharply upward at its end, so Odin was able to proceed to the cave opening virtually impossible to see by dropping down to crawl forward on his belly for the last stretch. He propped himself up on his elbows, allowing him to see outside.

The tunnel seemed to lead to a small, grassy area with a few trees and rocks scattered about. Looking to the side of the clearing, Odin could see the ground seem to abruptly end, becoming a view of grounds far below. To the other side, a sheer wall of stone rose further than Odin could see from his limited point of view. Straight ahead, this grassy area narrowed into a winding path leading higher up. Clearly, this tunnel had led to a clearing on a mountain.

These observations, however, were only background information Odin's mind noted subconsciously. His attention was focused upon the large number of Espers scattered about the clearing. There seemed to be one less than a dozen Espers present in the immediate clearing, and from what Odin could see of the summit that the winding path led to, a great many more gathered in the trees at the mountain's top. They were of less concern to Odin than the group immediately before him, however, as he could be relatively sure that it would take a small amount of time for any foes in the higher parts of the mountain to reach this area. The group before him was mostly comprised of average-sized Espers, ranging from the size of a dog to that of a large beast. There was one small, gossamer-winged animal little more than the size of a hummingbird slightly further away than the rest of the creatures, though. Odin could not see it clearly enough to determine whether it was an Esper as well, or merely some small monster indigenous to the area, but his instinct told him that it was the former.

He frowned. No, not instinct. Something more was telling him what that creature was. Something within him, some kind of inner sense. For that matter, he realized, he had not counted the assembled Espers with his eyes--he could not have, and gotten the right answer, for one of them was, he knew, sitting directly behind one of the clearing's rocks, completely obscured from view and not making any detectable noise. Yet he had instantly included the magical being in his initial count. It was as though he had an extra sense, and could use it just as easily and unconsciously as any of his others.

Although an unsettling and confusing realization, this thought was pushed to the back of his mind as he saw two of the closest Espers ahead turn and stare directly at him. Impossible. In his long afterlife in the Land of the Summoned, Odin had spent literal decades' worth of time training himself in the arts of stealth and silence, basing his countless hours of training on dozens of worlds' disciplines. He had reached a level of control, awareness, and guile long ago that far surpassed top assassins, peerless thieves, perfect ninjas, and flawless spies. And he had just used this training to make his approach to this spot in a way that was totally undetectable. Granted, heavy armor was not particularly stealthy, but that made no difference: Odin knew he could not have been detected by any of the average five senses, no matter how heightened they might be. And the two Espers who had found him out, both of whom were now approaching the cave mouth where he hid, most definitely did not have any heightened senses. They were, in Odin's personal opinion, actually considerably less perceptive than most other beings.

Odin considered attempting escape for a moment, but decided against it. The brothers approaching him did not give any indication of hostile intentions, and they had no reason to think that he was an enemy--if they knew the figure in the tunnel was Odin, they should assume he was a reborn Summoned ally, and if they didn't know it was Odin, they at least had no reason to think that any human foes could have found them. If he played this well, it could turn to Odin's advantage to have these Summoned alone with him.

"Odin! I thought it was you! Good to see you again, bro!" Minotaur greeted him as the two entered the cave.

Minotaur and Sacred, two brothers who, in Odin's opinion, shared the title of Village Idiot in the Land of the Summoned, had never been favored by the warrior as legitimate residents of the phantasmal realm. To begin with, their fighting ability was moderate, but not exceptional. This would not have irritated Odin normally, of course, for beyond his hand-picked Knights of the Round Council and its few former members, there were not many warriors among the Summoned in general--Bahamut, Alexander, and Leviathan tended to be more interesting in taking in beings with powers related more to magic than the sword. But the brothers were not even very useful in that area--their command over Earth magics barely surpassed Fenrir's amateurish abilities in the field, and after many years of half-hearted practice, neither Sacred nor his smaller big brother Minotaur still had any control at all over the powerful Holy magics that they claimed to have at their disposal. And, of course, their rather flippant nature had never been particularly endearing to Odin, either. Odin privately wondered if he might actually get along with them better now, since he no longer felt the disdain for emotions that he had.

More pressing in his mind, however, was how to handle this situation. While highly skilled at physical stealth, Odin had little experience in any lifetime with verbal deception. However, since Minotaur and Sacred apparently did not know of his betrayal yet, this could be a good opportunity for information on the Espers' strength and activities.

"Hello," Odin greeted them back, having no idea of what else to say. He was not an eloquent talker, even when not trying to trick others.

Thankfully, the other two were more than happy to fill any and all silence that Odin might create.

"Leviathan told all of us Summons that you'd be finally joining us again soon. Did Bahamut really come to get you himself? And destroy the human castle you were in? That must have been pretty impressive. I've never seen our lord go all out before,"said Minotaur. "Of course, I'm sure you must have been quite a sight yourself, joining in on trashing the place, but..."

"Yes," Odin offered helpfully.

"WHERE IS BAHAMUT, ANYWAY?" Sacred boomed, looking around at the cave that Odin was slowly leading them into.

Odin's mind raced, trying to think of something. He knew there must be a simple and easy lie to give, and that these two would more than likely believe anything they were told, but his mind nonetheless seemed to completely lock up. Thankfully, Minotaur's mouth was in direct contrast to his size, and he filled in the silence again.

"Don't be an idiot, Bro," Minotaur said, shaking his head at his brother's apparent stupidity. "Look around you. You think Lord Bahamut could fit into this cave? He's a lot bigger than Terrato was. I'm sure he's flying over and letting Odin go on foot. Right?"

"Yes, that's right," Odin said, relieved.

"OH, RIGHT. I SHOULD HAVE THOUGHT OF THAT," Sacred said, clearly embarrassed at his ignorance.

"So," Odin interrupted, "does Bahamut command the Espers as he does the Summoned?" Gathering some information as he lured the brothers a little further away from the Espers' camp could not hurt, and honestly showing his interest in knowing his enemies would be much easier for Odin than continuing his clumsy social deception.

"Huh? Oh, no way. He's only one of the Great Four. They're four Espers that share leadership of all the others. He's actually the only one of us there; the other three are just regular Espers, big-shot elders from what I hear," Minotaur explained. Then he smiled in amusement. "I don't think Lord Bahamut likes it much, either, although you didn't hear it from me. I don't think he's much for sharing power. And of course none of the regular Espers have any idea about us, so he's had a lot of trouble pushing our agenda. If the others knew he told Fenrir to go find you, they'd probably try to kick him out of the council!"

"Why did Lord Bahamut send Fenrir? What was his mission?" Odin interrupted.

Minotaur looked at him quizzically. "Well...to test you? I don't really know; I don't think any of the other Summoned were really filled in on that. Lord Bahamut didn't tell you himself?"

"No, there...there was no time for it," Odin lied, praying that he did not sound as suspicious as he felt.

"Oh, okay," Minotaur replied, taking Odin's uncomfortable answer in stride.

"So this area is the base of operations for the Espers? Or simply a forward headquarters near enemy territory?" Odin asked, trying to glean information that could be of better use to him.

"Nah, neither one. This is actually just a convenient place for Espers to rest in this region between the main base and wherever they're going to around here. They're not all like Palidor and Pazuzu; most of them can't handle one, long trip halfway across the world. The oth--

"Oh," Minotaur said, cutting off his own train of thought, "Those two are just regular Espers. Sorry, forgot that you wouldn't know them. They're not bad, kinda uptight, but that's how most of these guys are around here. There was this one time--"

"If this is not a base, then why did Gilgamesh lead his attack from here?" Odin interrupted, not really caring to hear whatever gossip Minotaur was likely to launch into.

"Because this was the closest gathering place to where that big human army was set up, I guess," Minotaur responded, less enthusiastic to keep discussing practical things than his personal anecdotes.

"Where is the main Esper headquarters?" Odin asked.

"A big place called Forestell, in one of the human countries that fell first," Minotaur told him.

Sacred added excitedly, "THE HUMANS COULD NEVER FIND IT BECAUSE ONE OF THE ESPER ELDERS CAN USE HIS MAGIC TO DECEIVE OTHERS. THOSE DOPES COULD WALK RIGHT INTO THE CENTER OF THE GATHERING PLACE AND NOT KNOW IT. IN FACT, ONE DID!"

Minotaur joined in with, "Yeah, those Esper Elders might be tough to work with sometimes, but they've got some impressive magical talent. This other Elder, Geone, can make exactly two hundred and thirty-six copies of himself (Gilgamesh had to take their attendance at a summit once), and turn stuff into stone to boot! Forestell's the place to be if you're an Esper, that's for sure. Every week you see something new."

Minotaur looked at Odin with a puzzled expression now. "Lord Bahamut never told you about Forestell? Or any of this other stuff? That really seems strange. Why wouldn't he?"

Odin didn't have an immediate answer.

"HEY BRO, WHERE ARE WE GOING, ANYWAY?" Sacred wondered.

There was not much point in trying to keep up his deception any longer. Odin suddenly swept his foot over and against Sacred's ankle in mid-step. Taken completely by surprise, Sacred had no time to steady himself, and began to pitch forward. As the larger of the Summoned brothers tripped, Odin slammed his elbow against Sacred's descending head, driving it against the stone wall of the cave brutally. As he did this, Odin's other arm reached over and grabbed the stunned false Esper's long mace out of his hands. As Sacred's colossal weight crashed to the ground, Odin turned quickly, using his momentum and strength to smash the head of the mace against the head of Minotaur. The smaller brother was knocked unconscious and flying before he could even register the shock of this betrayal.

Odin knelt to check Sacred. He had not disappeared into Magicite, so he was alive, and, as far as Odin could tell, not to awaken any time soon. A quick inspection of Minotaur confirmed the same for him. Good.

Odin tossed aside the mace and quickly went to rejoin his troops, feeling a small measure of relief. He had not been sure he would be able to deliver a strong enough blow on each to knock them out immediately. Killing them would have been a far easier matter, but doing so this close to the other Espers would have been a catastrophic error. Even if they could not somehow sense a fellow Esper's death--which Odin doubted, given that he, a simple Mage Knight with a very poor grasp over his small magical abilities, could effortlessly sense the presence of other Espers himself--the flash of light inherent with an Esper's post-mortem transformation to Magicite would surely have caught their attention. Odin had led the brothers far enough into the cave that he could subdue them without any notice, but that bright flash would have given him away easily.

----------------

It was time.

There was no battle cry uttered as they dashed forward from the cave's entrance into the light of day, no proclamation issued. Nor was there any care shown for noiseless stealth, no slower pace or more careful steps. Ten men simply ran into the Espers' midst.

The lack of attention-garnering noise gave them the gift of several foes being too surprised to respond, and the lack of devotion to sneaking gave them the proximity to take advantage of it.

Odin split himself from the rest of his men--gathering together would get them all killed, and he did not need any partners in this battle. He would better protect them by dividing the Espers' attention and subduing threats that his soldiers were not already engaging.

The first Esper Odin reached, a gargoyle-like creature that appeared to have shifting carapace instead of flesh, had not fully prepared itself. It lifted its hand, gathering fire within its palm, but was far too late to defend itself--an Atom Edge separated the arm, along with the creature's shoulder, neck, and head, from the rest of it.

Odin quickly turned his gaze for a split second to avoid the blinding flash of the Esper's death, and saw that a small, fairy-like creature was chanting silently to his left, looking directly where Odin could hear some of his soldiers fighting. For this mission, Odin had brought both Gungnir and Zantetsuken, but had additionally armed himself as a traditional commander in Lokithor's military, with five throwing knives in a pouch at his side to compliment his main weaponry. He used one now, throwing it at the Esper with fatal accuracy, and turned his head immediately, both to face his next opponent and to avoid being blinded by the flash of his victim's demise.

The Espers were through with their surprise now. One came at Odin. This one was humanoid in shape, but seemed to be made from twisted, pulsing fibers of congealed red ooze holding a blackened skeleton of jagged bones together. The Esper was several feet away, but it reached forward, and its arm's twitching gunk seemed to stretch forward unendingly, while instantly reshaping itself into a jagged blade. Odin had suspected from the moment the creature began its thrust that it would not do so from such a distance unless its reach could cover more distance than was apparent, so he was already stepping to the side as the (presumably) deadly blade stabbed at where he had been. Odin could feel the heat and hear the blaze of a fire spell behind him as he brought down Scimitar to slash at the Esper's limb, but his enemy was quicker still--Odin's sword harmlessly cut the air as the offending arm retracted.

Odin frowned as he read his opponent's peculiar body movements. His mind raced as he ducked down almost before the Esper made its next attack, a sweeping, long-armed slash with a hand that had reformed itself into a crude blade resembling an ax's. The noise behind him told Odin's ears that the last fire spell had killed four of his men, and Odin had found an unpleasant reality: he was nowhere near his true speed and, he suspected, power. He jumped to the side the very instant the Esper committed to a downward chop, narrowly avoiding the blurringly fast strike. He had not considered what now seemed obvious: he presently had a body trained for less than a couple decades under Niod, who employed a short-sighted regime that cultivated graceless power with methods that were effective but not even close to optimal. Two more of his soldiers were down, most likely from the spell that, from its crash and the chilly blast Odin felt at his back, could only be a high-level ice spell. Odin stepped back to avoid another chop, just in time to miss being split in two. He was not going to be as agile, flexible, or strong in this body as he was in his true form in the Land of the Summoned, which he had sculpted as close to physical perfection as it was capable of through millennia of constant activity and training processes culled from the best that the various worlds and cultures that the galaxy had to offer. The lightning bolt that now fizzled and sparked in his soldiers' midst was poorly-aimed; none of his men were where it landed--hasty and thus poor spell aim most likely meant that the Espers were, despite their magical and now numerical advantage, desperate and panicked to be fighting in such close quarters against armed humans. It seemed to Odin, as he dove to the ground and rolled to avoid a yet faster diagonal slice from his enemy, that just as the rest of the Summoned were less powerful as Espers than they were in their true bodies, so he was less capable as Odin Raiden.

Odin ceased rolling, and an instant after, the Esper's bladed arm slashed the ground where he would have been. This was bad. He was only barely evading his foe's attacks, and it was only thanks to his skill at combat--anything that distracted Odin from reading his opponent at this time could be fatal. In addition, his men were dropping quickly. Odin reached for a knife as he dodged once more. An Esper was approaching in the air from higher on the mountain, a creature that seemed to be a male harpy, and Odin knew that many more Espers would follow it, now that the ones higher up could clearly see that there was a battle on. Odin dodged once more, waiting for a proper opening--his foe was far too quick to hurl the knife at any time; the man would have to wait until the Esper could not dodge or deflect it even with its speed. The harpy Esper's descent to Odin was cut off as two arrows flew through the air--one missed completely, but the other, whether by luck or talent, buried itself in the creature's right shoulder. The archers, it seemed, were finally in position. Odin had told his five archers to spread out widely around the area rather than immediately engage in combat like the ten other men with him, and it seemed that they had only just completed the task (the last five soldiers that had originally been in this first group of Odin's had been left in the cave with Sacred and Minotaur with swords at the brothers' throats, under the strict orders to tell the two upon awakening that any move would be their last--and to follow through with that threat at the slightest provocation). The harpy fell to the ground, and screamed as blood slowly trickled down the sloped grass it lay on--it was not mortally wounded, but it could neither fly nor concentrate on spell-casting with such an injury. Odin's foe was distracted momentarily, but for an insufficient time to launch any attack during; the only difference it made was that Odin had a slightly less difficult time of evading the next strike.

There were arrows penetrating the air here and there now, but so far, only the Harpy Esper had been hit by one. There was, however, apparently some success on the humans' side, for there was the signature bright flash behind him of an Esper's death--Odin's trained ears could detect each archer's missile's path going uninterrupted, so it was one of his melee combatants who had succeeded in defeating the creature, but doubtless the confusion caused for the Espers by the arrows contributed.

Of more interest to Odin was that his personal opponent, which had been facing the direction that the Esper's death light had come from, jerked its head away and reflexively covered its pale lavender eyes. This was notable to Odin for two reasons, the more immediate being that it gave him a chance to hurl his knife at his opponent's throat. Whatever other rules there might be to this creature's strange biology, it seemed that its neck was as vital to it as it would be to any other humanoid. The Esper fell, gurgling its last incoherent words, and was Materia a moment later. The other reason his previous opponent's reaction had interested him was that he had never considered that Espers might be just as easily blinded by the strong flash of light as regular humans would be. It could be a vulnerability of use to his side.

Odin turned to the main battle. There were only three soldiers left--he had thought there would be five, having followed the fatalities of each offensive spell so far with his ears, but it seemed that somewhere during this pitched battle of so far almost three minutes, two more men had died, likely simply in physical combat with the Espers. Odin rushed headlong into the fray, using his momentum to slam into a werewolf Esper from behind, and jam his blade straight into the ribs of another that resembled a satyr with a scorpion tail. As the werewolf fell to the ground and the satyr stumbled back in shock, bleeding profusely, a pillar of roaring water burst forth from the ground where two of Odin's men were standing back-to-back, hurling them through the air with its force. Odin swept his blade around to slice the satyr's neck open, and as he did so, reached for one of his remaining knives with his free hand. He used his twirling momentum as he turned to increase the speed of his knife as he tossed it at another Esper to his right, a comparatively large, copper snake that appeared to be gathering electric power to its gaping mouth, an action that could only mean trouble later. The knife penetrated the reptilian creature's skull between the eyes, and it was Magicite before it hit the ground.

The men who had been hit by the water spell landed, one crashing face-first to the ground with enough force that it would be a miracle if either of his lungs were not torn to shreds by broken ribs that had been slammed backwards by the impact, and the other hitting a rock headfirst, completely snapping his neck. There were now six Espers against Odin, five archers, and a single foot soldier--poor odds for the humans, particularly since there were reinforcements rallying for the Espers higher up. In fact, Odin noticed, as he hurled himself back and to the side to avoid a column of fire that blazed toward where he had been with definitely unnatural speed, another flying Esper from above had almost reached this area.

Odin was knocked back by a tremendously strong and focused gust of air--doubtless some form of Aero magic. The breath was knocked from him, but he nonetheless kept his focus, dropping to his knees and rolling to avoid both a dagger of ice flying his way and another Esper's attempt to pounce on him. This one, the largest of the Espers assembled in this small group, was a two-headed lion with sparks of electricity coursing through its mane. It roared as it swept its claws at Odin, but he was back on his feet too fast to be hit. The last soldier was killed as a spire of rock erupted upward to impale him, while Odin caught the next swipe from the lion Esper with a slash of his own, and severed the creature's arm with the Scimitar. He slammed his fist into one of the magical being's heads, knocking the creature back awkwardly, and then, sensing a sudden buildup of energy around him, hurled himself to the side to narrowly avoid a bolt of lightning.

The archers had ceased firing at the group Odin was fighting in order to concentrate their attacks on the Esper flying to join the fray, but the bolts, Odin could hear, were doing nothing to halt its advance. Odin dashed away from the five Espers, twisting and turning as fire and ice followed him, making small leaps here and there to avoid misstepping on the ground as parts of it shifted into spikes and cloying mud, or opened up to swallow him. He risked a glance at the flying Esper that had his archers' attention, and saw that it seemed to be a small dragon with gray scales similar to granite. None of the archers' arrows could penetrate its armor. The creature was now in the middle of the clearing, and no longer advancing; rather, it reared its head back, took a deep breath, and then began to breathe out a hurricane of sand and black rocks from its maw, moving the area it hailed stone at to cover each spot where Odin's archers were. Odin was now by himself.

The warrior grimaced as a bolt of lightning shivered through the air from the mouths of the lion Esper at him, blasting the ground where he had been a moment before. He had needed the five soldiers he'd left with Minotaur and Sacred more than he had thought. He had hoped not to lose his entire team before five minutes had passed.

There was no point in regret now, however. Odin resolved himself to eliminate the rocky dragon first and foremost. He ran towards the Esper, which was only just ending its harsh attack now. The ground shimmered before Odin with movement, as it had many times so far, but rather than avoid the earth spell being cast at him, he continued straight at it. As expected, the moment his feet were in its range of effect, the spell was finished, and a tremendous spike of rock surged upward to run Odin through. He gave a small leap back to avoid the tip, and then grabbed hold of it as it grew in front of him, using the tremendous speed of its advance upward to propel him into the air. As the rock stopped, Odin set his feet against the side of the stone, and launched himself from it, adding what distance his powerful legs could to the velocity the spell already gave. He hurtled straight at the aloft dragon, and with one mid-air Atom Edge sheared the beast in two across its belly. Man and Magicite hit the ground. How long had the battle gone on now? Four minutes? Surely it could not be far from five. He must hold out.

The Espers were closing in on him now, perceiving his flight, which happened by chance to have been in the direction of the cave entrance from which he had come, as an attempt to flee. They gathered around the entrance to cut his potential escape off, as Odin ducked to avoid having his head removed by a jet stream of water coming from the werewolf Esper's hands. There was increasing noise from behind him and farther up of the rest of the Espers descending to the fray. The situation was getting worse.

But it seemed that time was finally up. The lion Esper howled in shocked pain as an axe suddenly buried itself into the creature's flank; it turned one head back to find out what happened, and had its last sight in life that of a heavy spear thrusting straight into its neck. Ten more men, more heavily equipped than Odin's original group, had come from the cave mouth and hit the Espers hard. No longer concerned with the one warrior in front of him, the Espers turned to fight off the new attackers as their lion-looking comrade was reduced to magical stone, along with a small, grayish-brown Esper that seemed most like a troll than anything else, which had been run clean through by three separate swords at once. Unfortunately, the soldiers were looking directly at their enemies when the two died, so the blinding light stunned Odin's men long enough for the Espers to turn their magic and natural defenses to bear.

Odin turned to the sloping trail further up the mountain. There were several Espers coming down it on foot now, he sensed, with the main force far behind them. The humans could not wait for the Espers above to reach them; they would stand no chance. Thus, Odin decided to bring the fight to them. He ran to the trail and began to dash up. One of the descending Espers was closing in on him, a chimera beast that appeared to be both lizard and bull, but Odin's last two throwing knives brought it crashing to the ground, one sinking into each of its front legs.

As Odin passed the grounded harpy Esper, it weakly attempted to grab his leg. He shook free of its clumsy grasp and knocked it unconscious with a single kick. The momentary distraction, however, interrupted his run enough that Odin decided it would be better for the time being to stand his ground against the next three Espers, all three separately-colored cats of prey that had scales rather than fur. He readied himself for them.

They split their advance apart, one running to each side as they approached his position, while the third kept coming straight at him. The two on each side slowed and raised their heads to roar, and two walls of flame grew on each side of Odin. A clever, if obvious tactic--the fire ensured that when the third Esper reached him, there would be no room for dodging its attack. As the third closed in, its head seemed to burst into flames, and a cone of fire began to burn in front of it. This was clever and less expected--even though Odin might still be able to use the free space behind him to evade the Esper's attacks, the haze of fire would make counterattacks difficult, and lessen his chances of avoiding injury.

The Esper reached Odin and pounced forward, its burning mouth an open grin of savage spikes aglow. Odin let himself fall backward, dropping low enough to avoid all but some heat of the cat's fire. As the predator passed over him, Odin thrust his blade up, and gutted it. The most damage the Esper ever did to him was that its Magicite fell on Odin's head, before he brushed it aside.

The other two feline Espers, in a rage, ran at him from each side and attacked, the one on Odin's left leaping high, and the other going for the man's legs. Odin turned and brought his sword cleaving down to bite into the cat's flesh in midair with so much force that it brought the beast crashing down. As he made the turn, he lifted his leg and swept his boot's back against the oncoming head of his opponent. His timing perfect, Odin caught the creature in the mouth with his steel-clad heel, knocking several fangs loose with the impact, and forcing the Esper's head aside as some of its intact teeth caught on the armored plates of Odin's greave. Odin lifted his sword out of the first Esper, then plunged it back in straight down, killing it. He turned and sliced the other's head off just as it was getting back up from the ground. He looked up to avoid the blinding flashes from each.

There were two more bestial Espers coming down from the higher parts of the mountain at him, but at a considerably slower pace now, unsure of engaging him. Arrows began to fly at them as the ten archers that had been part of the second group of Odin's soldiers found spread-out locations to fire from--the Espers were only slightly out of range; a few more strides down and they would be in danger. Odin made a mental note to introduce long bows to Lokithor's military in the near future--they would have had the range to send fatal missiles into the midst of the Espers at the mountain's summit, if the angle would allow, let alone the couple Espers on the slope.

There was a sudden roar of human voices back at the cave's entrance. Odin's third and final group of soldiers had arrived on the scene, and, as Odin had instructed, were making as loud a charge into battle as possible. The reinforcements, fifteen close combatants and five more archers, immediately turned the tide against the three embattled Espers there, resulting in a quick end to each. Odin began to advance on the mountain's summit again, this time with almost thirty troops following him, under the cover of several archers' sporadic fire. The two Espers that had been so eager to meet him in battle now turned and fled back up.

There was a tremendous rumbling above, and Odin could feel six more Espers approaching. He halted for a moment as the enemies came into view. Or rather, as one came into view, with the other five likely somewhere behind it. This one was a tremendous monster, dragon-headed with a bright yellow and orange arachnid's body that completely took up the width of the path, and then some--several of its legs were forced to grasp onto the sheer side of the cliff because they could not fit onto the ground of the path around its bulk. Each step it took set the ground aflame, and the air around it seemed alive with a miniature lightning storm. Scales and jagged spines adorned the creature rather than hair.

The two fleeing Espers stopped by the arachnid dragon's side, and turned back, as if to taunt the humans now that the Espers' champion had arrived. The mighty beast opened its maw, revealing several rows of dragon's tearing teeth, along with a set of spider's fangs that seemed like a pair of the Grim Reaper's own sickles. It roared, a hideous, high-pitched shriek that seemed closer to a violently dying house cat's than a titanic monster's. The air around its mouth shimmered as energy began to form there, reminiscent of Bahamut's own energy breath ability.

Odin halted for a moment and unfastened Gungnir from his back. He took the mighty spear in his hand, hefted it aloft, and drove it through the air with as much strength as his limited power in this body could manage. A Gunge Lance attack was impossible without the speed Sleipnir added, but with proper aim, Odin wouldn't need one.

Gungnir shot straight into the gaping mouth of the monstrous Esper, and kept going. The force of the spear's flight was so great that it drove the titan back, forcing its way through its skull to puncture through the other side. The Esper collapsed, its head drooping down and unleashing the energy it had been building up, creating a minor explosion at the creature's feet. The blast blew the Esper sideways, and it fell off the path, down to the rocks of the valley far below.

Odin gripped Scimitar and continued forward.

----------------

It was over.

There had been no more fatalities on either side with the scaled arachnid Esper's death. At seeing Odin quickly dispatch their champion, and seeing him advance with his small force after seeing one wave after another come from the cave's entrance to join him with who knew how many more ready to add to his group, the Espers left on the mountain had cleared out quickly. Some flew off, some disappeared with teleportation magics, and the rest simply fled to other paths off the mountain.

Once more Odin had his men count the Magicite scattered about. He knew the number would not change, but it was good for morale, and would leave no doubt for reporting the victory later of the margin by which the humans had won. Thirteen. Fourteen, when they located the Magicite of the scaled arachnid Esper that had been the last to die. This many Espers defeated was usually the result of a major battle of thousands of participants, not a minor skirmish of less than a hundred. And the ratio of losses, fewer than two human warriors lost for every Esper killed, was the lowest any conflict in this war had had thus far.

Just as encouraging, four Espers had been left behind--the brothers Sacred and Minotaur, the harpy, and the chimera, all of whom were unconscious or too injured to escape. With an appropriate amount of caution, all four could be easily transported back to the castle...and be used to create more Mage Knights.

Today was a turning point. Today had proven where Odin's loyalties lay, his strength as a combatant, and his value as a military leader. Today had taught many lessons about how this war must be conducted from then on. And today had shown the humans of this world that hope was not lost. Today there had been victory.


	18. Chapter 17: Final Ally

_Author's Note_: Same as before. Still don't own diddly-doo. Still don't make jack-squibble. Still would like not to be sued.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

Chapter 17: Final Ally

_By The RPGenius_

Odin did not enjoy these diplomatic councils. Regardless of his comparatively newfound appreciation for emotion and human nature, he had no social graces to speak of, and was not suited for the role of dignitary. He didn't know why Frigg insisted on his speaking at these meetings; any fool could read back a military report.

Of course, the princess would always insist afterwards that he had been perfect, and that she could not possibly have managed her negotiations without him, despite the fact that she often had. Well, at least this was the last of them, and Odin had to admit that he had more or less gotten well enough used to giving these reports in the past four years that this would be little more than a recitation. Why Frigg was even intent on gaining a formal alliance with Fraudir, a nation of fiercely independent spear warriors that nonetheless was far too sparsely populated, too technologically outdated, and too lacking in useful resources to be helpful in any way to Frigg's cause, and whose location had no strategic significance, was utterly beyond Odin. Frigg had insisted, however, that a pact with the only human country not already part of her alliance was necessary.

Frigg ended her speech to the king of Fraudir and his advisors, and gestured to Odin to stand and make his report. He cleared his throat and did so.

"Greetings. I am Odin, primary military leader and strategist of Lokithor's forces, and acting bodyguard for Our Lady Savior, Queen Frigg."

The title of "Our Lady Savior" was one which had become popularly used by the common people of Lokithor during the second year of her rule. While the queen had enough modesty to find the title a little embarrassingly excessive, she had nonetheless seized on its popularity and asked all her council, Odin included, to address her as such publicly at all times. She felt, she had explained, that a dramatic title such as that might better inspire others to trust and follow her.

"The war of no name that has been waged now for the better part of two decades was, until approximately four years ago, all but decided in its conclusion. With nearly three quarters of humanity's nations destroyed and their populations either utterly decimated or finding refuge in what safe countries remained, it seemed from any perspective and analysis not blindly optimistic that the Espers' victory was inevitable, despite the fact that humans still greatly outnumbered them. The next country expected to fall was Lokithor. The succession of Our Lady Savior to the throne, and her appointment of myself to chief military officer on her council, however, led to a dramatic shift in how the war was waged from that point on, and thanks to this, humanity now has the upper hand in the conflict.

"The reasons for Lokithor's success in spearheading the offensive of the past four years are both social and military in nature. The first of the social strategies, and perhaps the most important, is the encouragement of Mage Knights to join Lokithor's military forces, an initiative imagined by Our Lady Savior, Queen Frigg. By promising them a place to live free of the resentment and distrust against them that was typical at the time, offering swift military recognition and promotion to them, and setting down harsh laws punishing any individual who was caught or suspected of harassing Mage Knights within the Lokithor military, Lokithor quickly became the home to over half the Mage Knights alive at the time, a fact which still holds true despite several other countries' adoption of our standards."

Of course, while it had been Frigg's hard work to enact these revolutionary policies, giving her full credit for them was not technically the full truth--it had been Odin who had impressed upon her the urgent need for as many Mage Knights at his disposal as possible. Still, the queen had done the work of drawing them to her country, and had set about the task of enforcing tolerance of them with such gusto that, even if Odin had any interest in taking credit for such things, he would not have denied her sole recognition on this matter.

"The abilities of Mage Knights in combat has been instrumental to our victories from the beginning of Our Lady Savior's reign--Lokithorian Commander Sansar's ability to manipulate the ground, a magic skill bestowed on him near the beginning of our counter-initiative, was vital in the famous victory of New Surt Gorge, responsible for the elimination of seven Espers in that battle alone. Likewise, the recent Battle of Freymir would not have been half as devastating were it not for the combined destructive powers of Sarana and Thele Magus, sister Mage Knights whose masteries of fire and water magics respectively far surpass those of the Esper whose talents they received--or, for that matter, nearly any Esper we have encountered thus far.

"The greatest use of Mage Knights, however, has been outside of combat, one which I discovered in the infamous Mountain Path Skirmish. Just as Espers can inherently sense one another's presence over limited distances, so too can Mage Knights detect Espers close by. Due to Espers' magical abilities and various means of travel, battles up until recently in this war were almost always defensive ones for our side. Using Mage Knights, however, Lokithor and its allies have been able to seek out and find the Espers' gathering places and bases, finally allowing us an opportunity for an offensive."

This matter of Mage Knights' importance was always the first item of Odin's speech, and the one he devoted the most time to, at Frigg's insistence. She explained that it was more important than the rest of his report in that it helped to foster the sense that Mage Knights were indispensable--as always, she regarded the recognition of Mage Knights' contributions to humanity as being of utmost importance. In this way, among many others, Frigg thought beyond the war before her, something that Odin believed few of humanity's leaders joined her in doing. Simply winning the war was not all she wanted; Frigg wanted humanity to come out of the war strongly united, ready to cooperate in rebuilding the destruction brought about by the long conflict. To this end, she wanted Mage Knights to be a respected part of society for their contributions. He wondered at times whether this was especially motivated by her desire for Odin to be treated well at the end of the war, when it would be officially made known that he himself was a Mage Knight, but even were that the case, it was a noble ambition on her part.

Frigg's interest in an united humanity by the end of the war was evident in the second part of Odin's presentation.

"Another major part of Our Lady Savior's strategies for victory has been the formation of a strong alliance between all remaining human nations--she has felt, rightly, that the lack of total cooperation between our race's many countries was a major reason for the Espers' uninterrupted success for the first twenty years of the war. The Alliance that she has formed with all other human lands, and which she invites you to join, has provided our country with the resources to maintain and strengthen our military. In return, Lokithor has become both a sword and a shield against the Espers, protecting its allies by striking the Espers too hard, too often for them to consider attacking any other nation."

Odin had to admit that this effort's success was almost entirely Frigg's. While he fought battle after battle on the front lines, it was Frigg's constant diplomatic efforts to gain the support of Lokithor's neighbors that kept Odin's soldiers fed, equipped, and of sufficient numbers. While she had him present for many meetings with foreign dignitaries to deliver reports such as this one, it was ultimately always the queen's arguments, promises, and pleas that won the vital assistance of Lashnin, Garruk, and so all the other nations. With the help of Odin's successes, Frigg had managed to convince the world's human leaders that she was their best hope for survival.

Of course, this was, again, as much a part of Frigg's hopes to have a stable future after the war as it was about winning. By making sure that all countries were united as a part of the war effort, Frigg hoped to avoid any one nation being ostracized by its neighbors for not sufficiently helping to bring about the victory. That was the entire reason Odin was giving this report now; Frigg simply didn't want the small Fraudir to be mistreated by other nations after the war on the grounds that it was not "one of them." Frigg had always had a magnanimous nature.

"Of course, while these acts were vital in giving Lokithor the necessary resources to survive and build an offense, as important to our country's successes have been the many military strategies and policies implemented primarily by myself. These have allowed successful combat against Espers on countless occasions in the past four years, both in offensive and defensive battles," Odin continued. He lifted to the table before him several bound paper pamphlets. He passed them to the man closest to them, and said, "Please take one and pass it along to the next person."

As this was done, Odin continued his presentation. "What you are being given is a collection of the many combat strategies and changes which I have implemented since becoming the main military advisor to the queen. As a brief glance will show you, they are quite detailed--you are, of course, welcome to implement any of these ideas into your own army as you see fit. I will give a brief outline to most of the pamphlets' contents as you read."

"The first and most important change made is unquestionably the reorganization of Lokithor's armies and main methods of battle. Until recently, major battles were fought by humanity's forces in the same ways they had always been--which is to say, putting aside small variations, large forces directly attacked their enemies, with the founding assumption that greater numbers would aid in one's success. This, however, is folly when fighting groups of Espers--their magic, and sometimes even their physical offenses, can easily cover wide areas and allow them to target a group of twenty men as easily as a single individual. I realized this simple truth after participating in my first major battle in this war: a higher concentration of men only multiplies our own casualties. In addition, traditional Esper tactics, which follow their motive to annihilate all humans, almost always dictate that they attack the largest groups of humans possible. Since they have means to travel and conceal themselves beyond our ability to easily obstruct, they can easily reach any large army undetected and make a surprise attack.

"With this in mind, military units for Lokithor's forces have been completely restructured. Now, military units never exceed one hundred soldiers, and more typically number twenty-five to fifty. They are spread all across the lands that make up the war front, and each unit is equipped with several arrows tied with a small package of explosive ingredients, along with a horn which can produce loud, piercing, and strong notes. Whenever one unit is attacked, a soldier from that unit will play a certain succession of notes that indicate to any other unit within hearing that his or her squad is under attack. In addition, if any Esper offense made during the evening, night, or early morning, an archer from the unit lights a fuse on one of the special arrows' packages, and fires it into the air straight up. The package should ignite near or at the zenith of the arrow's ascent, and cause a very strong flash that will be visible from far off. Any group of soldiers that see or hear these signals immediately go to that location and provide assistance to the soldiers who have been attacked. With squads scattered throughout our territories in fairly close proximity to one another, this means that the Espers will quickly be attacked themselves while still trying to eliminate their intended prey. As one party of soldiers arrives after another, the Espers find themselves surrounded and fighting on all sides against constantly replenishing forces. The Esper raiding party's utter destruction is nearly guaranteed, and the number of casualties on our side is usually lower than ten percent the numbers from previous, large-scale battles that resulted in the same number of Espers killed. The principle of multiple small waves repeatedly attacking has been proven effective as an offensive tactic, as well, particularly when mixed with traditional strategies such as pincer formations, and especially feints--with our forces attacking in small units consistently, it has been difficult for defending Esper forces to determine which attack front is genuine and which is merely meant to divert their attention."

This idea had been Odin's entirely, and he took some measure of pride from how well it had worked, but he had to admit that its execution had been as much Frigg's doing as his own. Such a radical departure from military norms had set nearly all of Lokithor's commanders into protest, and being told that they would be protected by only dozens of their peers at a time instead of hundreds did not get a vote of confidence from the regular soldiers, either. It had been Frigg who had set her foot down and ordered her army's leaders to follow Odin's instructions, and also her who had reassured and encouraged the people making up her armies through several public speeches before the method was proven successful.

"Of course," Odin continued, picking up one of the pamphlets and leafing through it to the next part he wished to go over, "this strategy has been made far more effective by several changes made to the equipment and emphasis of our troops' training. One major change made early on in Our Lady Savior, Queen Frigg's campaign was the elimination of chariots from our military forces. While a time-honored tradition of Lokithor, the chariot's uses as a protective transport and for invoking fear in opponents are not viable against Esper combatants, who are often larger than the chariots and have spells which the chariot provides no protection from. Instead, bows and arrows have become the new symbolic tool of Lokithor. They offer a strong, long-range attack, which is important against many Espers who are so lethally dangerous in melee combat that they do not even use what magic they have, are light enough that archers' transport to a battle is more effective than a regularly armed and armored soldier, and perhaps most importantly, they can be used to attack and kill flying Espers--of which there are very many. Twenty archers, firing in succession and concentrating on a specific area, can be a much greater threat to an Esper than twice that number of soldiers armed with close-combat weapons."

Once again, a change that Odin had envisioned, but Frigg had made possible. Frigg had been the one to quiet her council's objections to casting aside the piece of Lokithor's culture that was the chariot. In addition, it was her effort to forge an alliance with the neighboring kingdoms that provided the materials for creating en masse bows and arrows--Lokithor was a kingdom primarily of plains, with few sources of lumber.

"Another major step forward in our war efforts regards transportation. Chocobos, generously provided in great numbers by Garruk to its allies, have become a major part of the war. Regardless of their armaments, soldiers riding chocobos have been able to respond to nearby Esper attacks nearly immediately, and the birds' speed and reliability have given soldiers an edge in getting to enemies before spell chants can be completed, and avoiding attacks both magical and physical. In addition to chocobos, I personally have had horses added to the war effort, as well. While most people hold the opinion that horses are not as suited for riding as chocobos--" (Odin always spoke this sentiment with some irritation), "--they nonetheless have far more strength and endurance with only a slight sacrifice in speed, making them ideal for bringing large loads to destinations quickly. To this end, most military units have a couple of large wagon transports. Should the unit need to respond to another group's distress call, the soldiers without chocobos get into the wagons, and are brought by several horses into the fray quickly. It is a crude, but effective way to transport a group of soldiers into combat nearby."

Another aspect of Odin's military restructuring that would not have been possible without Frigg's assistance. It had been her who had convinced Garruk to ally with Lokithor and pledge their resources to it. Odin had not even been there to give one of these reports on that occasion, having instead led a strike against a force of Espers that had been massing for an offensive of their own. Frigg, of course, had insisted afterwards that it was the news of the Espers' crushing defeat that had been the deciding factor in Garruk's decision to join Frigg's then fledgling alliance, but Odin knew such sentiments were false, even if Frigg believed them herself--she would have convinced Garruk's council either way. She had managed to talk Lashnin, the country that had for half a dozen years been intending to let Lokithor bear the brunt of the Espers and fall to give it more time to prepare its own defenses, into being the first country in her alliance, and Lokithor's strongest supporter in terms of material resources. There was no doubt in Odin's mind that Garruk would have yielded to her flawless diplomacy even if Odin's attack had been a catastrophic failure.

"Next, there are various tactics for actually fighting against Espers that have been developed from field experience and then taught to our forces--strategies such as selecting the smaller, less dangerous-seeming Espers first since they tend to rely more strongly on their dangerous spells, and training troops to look away from their enemy when they've struck a killing blow to avoid the blinding death flash all Espers give off a few moments after being killed. These strategies are simple, yet very helpful--the former eliminates easy targets that could cause major damage over time if allowed to, and the latter not only keeps soldiers from being incapacitated in the middle of combat, but also allows them to take advantage of the momentary blindness other Espers nearby may be inflicted with by the same flash. It would take far too long to go over all the tactics now, of course, so you may read the pamphlet if you wish to know more.

"Finally, extending the mandatory military service by all those of age in Lokithor to include women has bolstered our forces, allowing Lokithor to maintain its push forward to retake Esper lands without having to rely unreasonably upon its allies' armies to assist it. While female soldiers have not been an unusual phenomenon in many other countries, Lokithor traditionally has had its armies made up only of men, so, like the removal of chariots from our war tactics, this represents a major change to our culture."

This had actually been a matter that Odin implied more difficulty in his speech than there had been. With the country being ruled successfully for the first time in over a decade by a woman, and with the promise of future victories and better security, Lokithor's inhabitants of all levels of influence had been largely accepting of the idea of female warriors. On this matter, Frigg's deciding influence had come from her actions more than her words.

"That is, essentially, what has led to humanity's resurgence, how we have come to not only survive the genocide that the Espers have attempted to exact on us, but to turn the tables and regain what our species has lost: the ability to adapt our strategy to what is needed, and to give and seek help wherever it is available. If an individual is capable of aiding us, then for their own and our own survival, we must request that individual's aid, regardless of whether they are a Mage Knight, woman, or foreigner. And this is why Our Lady Savior, Queen Frigg wishes for you to join her alliance in this final hour of the war--because we need the help of all to make our final strike. Thank you."

------------------------------------

It was late, and Frigg was ready to retire for the night. As was his custom, Odin was checking the room that Fraudir had provided her for any particular defensive weaknesses, and taking stock of its design and décor so he would know how best to fight within it, should there be any need. There had so far been no incident where his preparations had been useful on any of these diplomatic missions of hers, but that did not mean there never would be.

"Good job with your speech today, Odin. I'm sure the king will be in favor of joining the alliance tomorrow morning," Frigg told him, yawning.

Odin pushed against the window frame and checked the window's locks as he replied, "I still don't think that it matters, Queen. What I said to them this afternoon was an outright lie; there is no possibility that their soldiers or resources will be helpful to us in Operation Ragnarok. It will likely be more trouble to fit them into the plan of attack than it's worth."

Frigg came up to the window beside him and peered out of it. The scene outside was of the rocky, sheer face of a small mountain, with the only patch of sky not obscured by the mountain's largely barren cliffs cloudy and featureless. The light of the moon could only barely be seen through the sky's natural haze.

"I know, Odin," she told him, staring out the window. Despite the uninteresting view, she smiled. "But it's still important to have them with us, for after the war. What happens when we win, and Fraudir is the one country that never contributed to our cause in any way, and was never asked to? Will they be shunned by Lashnin and other countries in the alliance for never helping? Will Fraudir's people be resentful that they never had a chance to prove themselves?"

She hunched over a little, resting with her elbows on the windowsill. Odin looked at her, and thought it strange to see her in such a way. She was physically tired; he was surprised she didn't collapse from her exhaustion at that very moment. Yet her mind was alert and ready, her spirit eager and tireless. Rather than wear her down, the last four years of ruling a troubled country, endlessly convincing councils and rulers who had written her nation off as doomed that she was their only hope...it had put a fire in her eyes of purpose and determination. For all of her life that Odin had seen, she had kept a playful, enthusiastic air about her, that had always suited her insatiable thirst for the stories and knowledge kept in her books and to be gained from her lessons...and now, in these years of her reign, that enthusiasm had become readiness, a will to put all that she had learned to use.

Now more than ever he understood what Alexander had seen when he prophesied this time of the war, why Bahamut had sent Odin himself to eliminate Frigg. She was an embodiment of some of the best parts of the human spirit. Odin might have helped her arrive at this eve of human victory quickly in these past few years, but he knew without a doubt in his soul that he had not been necessary. It might have been more costly and longer, but she would have won this war without him.

There were times that Odin would question himself, his actions, his decision to turn against the Summoned. He knew he had ruined a perfect opportunity for the Summoned to one day personally end Lucavi. He knew he would, in the years following the moment when Alexander had anticipated the Summoned and Espers' final victory over Lucavi, be responsible for every single life ended by Altima, a Zodiac Monster, an Apanda, and any other demon Lucavi directed. The extinction of humans on this world would have saved the races of countless others.

But Odin could never trouble himself for long with these considerations. These humans deserved to live as much as any others; condemning them for greater numbers of others was a questionable moral high road. And at any rate, Odin could not kill Frigg. She was his humanity; she was, to him, humanity itself. To allow or cause her destruction would be, to him, becoming Lucavi himself. She was, to Odin, all that humans should be, their finest aspects--Lucavi might count humanity's destruction by numbers, but to Odin it would be her death alone.

"We need to come out of this war strong, and unified. No bickering about who didn't do enough, who deserves greater power or privileges. If we want to rebuild what we've lost, we must do it together," Frigg insisted, bringing Odin's mind back to the present conversation. "I want every country's citizens to be considered a part of our miracle. It would be too easy for others to seek a group to unfairly blame for the war's problems once it's over. If I can only manage to set everything up well enough, we could all come out of this a far better society than we all were before. Lashnin should be remembered as the country that joined our alliance first, not the nation that tried to use us as a shield. Fraudir should be recalled as the country that came in at the moment before our final battle to enforce our victory, not the land that sat by while the rest of the world suffered and fought. Women should be remembered as the ones who reinforced our lines to help us push forward, and men as the ones who held those lines for so long. And Mage Knights should be known not as the people who gave up their humanity, but as the most dedicated warriors humanity had to offer, who went to the greatest lengths to save us all."

She looked at Odin then, and gently rested her hand on his. "I want them--and you--to have as many rights and as much respect as any other war hero. To have no fewer rights or less of a place in society as anyone else. I want to be able to...to make everything work out."

She gave his hand a small squeeze, and stared at him. Odin squeezed very slightly back, not knowing what else to do in response. Clearly, Frigg was seeking some kind of response from him. Odin decided that she must be looking for reassurance.

"I will do my very best to help you achieve all you wish, my queen," he told her. "Operation Ragnarok will the final blow against the Espers that shall seal our victory, and I will personally see to it that it is a success."

For a moment, Frigg looked at him with a blank expression. Then she smiled and gave a very small laugh that almost sounded regretful. "Yes, of course you will. You always do. Thank you, Odin," she told him.

He bowed, pleased that he had apparently settled whatever had been on her mind just then, and excused himself for the night. Once outside her room, he sat in a chair, preparing to, as always, sit awake outside her chambers for the night's duration. Comfortable, he let his spear rest against the doorway by him, and mentally went over his strategy for the upcoming Operation Ragnarok--the battle that would end it all.


	19. Chapter 18: Final Battle

_Author's Note_: At this point, years after this fic was first published, you MUST know that I don't own the game or characters or anything, and that I don't profit from writing about them. I mean, surely you've been paying THAT much attention.

**Tales of the Summoned: Odin**

_By The RPGenius_

**Chapter 18: Final Battle**

Although Frigg's diplomatic brilliance and creative mind nearly always worked perfectly with Odin's strategic gifts and ability to personally guarantee victory in nearly any conflict he participated in, there were, of course, rare occasions in which they did not see eye to eye. The one issue of this war that they could never seem to come to an agreement on was the matter of spies.

Lokithor was a country that had a tendency for straightforward, offensive warfare and battle tactics-one could have easily come to such a conclusion even without reading a single page of its history books, simply by looking at the country's military before Odin had taken charge of it. Its significant emphasis on melee weapons such as swords and axes, lack of archers or other long-range soldiers, proud use of chariots, and its most infamous warrior being Niod Raiden, all pointed to a country that preferred open assault to subtlety. As such, there were precious few officers in Lokithor's employ that specialized in covertly gathering information when Frigg became queen, and even now there were only about twice that number. Training more people to be spies was difficult when one's country had no resources or knowledge of espionage to work with (and Odin certainly had no idea; subtlety was not his specialty), and what few spies there were that could teach their profession were out in the field.

Odin wanted to use spies to route out Esper bases, and to discover the Espers' general movements between their safe havens. He disliked sending regular soldiers to do so-those that met with success in finding Espers tended not to make it back to report on it, simply not having the talent or training to avoid detection well. Sending Mage Knights was equally problematic despite the fact that several had magical spells at their disposal that would aid them in espionage, such as Vanish spells, for Espers could sense Mage Knights just as they could sense Espers, so staying hidden was out of the question regardless of whether they could be detected by any of the five conventional senses. Thus far, Esper bases had been found either by following a retreating Esper from a failed attack on the human armies to his, her, or its hideaway, or by an advancing group of soldiers coming across a base by sheer accident. Although the humans were now winning the war, it was mostly through defensive victories that devastated the Esper attack forces; few actual offensive battles had been waged.

The problem was that Frigg also wanted to use spies for an entirely different purpose, and with the limited number of these specialists at her disposal, she could not afford to share any with Odin. Frigg employed her country's spies in her allies' lands. They reported to her the news of each nation that had joined with her against the Espers, told her of grand and minor moves in their politics, and reported on the general sentiments of the common peoples in each. Frigg was uncommonly gifted at understanding and convincing people to do as she requested, but relied on this information for an extra edge. She insisted that it was important to know her allies as intimately as possible, for their help was essential for the war and their continued allegiance necessary for when the conflict ended.

Odin, of course, argued that it was far more important to know when and where the Espers were attacking from than it was to know which foreign prince was celebrating his birthday on any given day. "It has been said to "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer," my Queen," he had told her, quoting an old war wisdom that was infamous not only on this world, but a great many others that he had observed.

"It's also been said that "My enemies are the friends I could have known," Odin," Frigg had countered.

"By whom?" Odin demanded. He had never heard any such saying, and was skeptical that whichever obscure dreamer in Lokithor's history had come up with it could hold sufficient credit against the agreement of dozens of worlds' military geniuses on the wisdom that Odin had quoted.

"Myself," had been Frigg's pleased answer.

And so Odin was compelled to relent, and Frigg kept the kingdom's spies for her own ends.

The lack of dependable intelligence had, however, quite ironically been the foundation of Operation Ragnarok.

Since his short conversation with Sacred and Minotaur so long ago, Odin had known the Esper headquarters to be within a large forest known as Forestell. During his time of command over the human forces, Odin had kept this knowledge very close, telling it only to Frigg, and making sure that it did not show itself in his strategies and military expansions. While he was careful to have the human armies recapture territories that led to Sigrun, the country in which Forestell was located, he was equally careful to make that path a broad one, appearing to simply be a campaign that would happen to lead to and go over Sigrun. The Espers were ever there to attack his forces, and so there was ever reason to continue moving forward against them.

Thus, Odin could be relatively sure that the Espers should have no suspicion that he knew of their base of operations. He had captured the Brothers immediately after they had imparted the information, and they had perished during the creation of Mage Knights from their drained magic. While he had considered the possibility that they, or any other Summoned, could communicate to their peers posing as Espers from whatever plane the Land of the Summoned existed on, it seemed unlikely, given that no one had known of Odin's betrayal against Bahamut prior to Odin's later, widely-observed betrayal against the Summoned that made his allegiance clear.

Recently, the human forces had expanded into Sigrun. They had not gotten to Forestell yet, but the location was now within striking distance. As was typical upon securing a new area, Odin had several soldiers sent out to scout the country. As was typical, he expected many to never come back, and not to receive any significantly important reports from the ones that did-often, the scouts who vanished provided him far better intelligence than the ones who returned, as he could often follow the paths of lost scouts right to the Espers that killed them.

This was not a typical scouting mission. All his soldiers reported back alive and well. And two of them had interesting reports.

Actually, it would be more accurate to say that two of them had one interesting report. The first scout had, during his travels, approached a large hill sparsely covered with foliage from the west, and seen many Espers atop it, as well as traveling up and down its slopes. From his description, Odin determined that some of the Espers he had seen on Hrist Hill, as it was called, must have been Shiva, Titan, and Ramuh. The second scout, who returned only hours later, had covered an area of reconnaissance that included the south side of that same hill. He had also gotten close enough to it to observe its unusually large concentration of Espers, and had observed Espers whose descriptions matched Gilgamesh and Siren.

One poorly-trained spy getting close enough to a large group of Espers to be able to describe them and living to do so was highly unusual. Two was an impossibility. And each spy was allowed to see individuals that Odin knew quite well to be powerful and important. Odin was no master of subterfuge, but his spies' success reeked of a waiting trap.

It was not hard to see how the trap was meant to spring. Having found a group of Espers, Odin would be expected to move to attack them. The presence of Summoned there whom he knew was likely an attempt to further entice him into attacking-the Summoned almost surely did not know what motive Odin had for betraying them, so they likely assumed that he had done so out of some kind of personal spite against them. And if that had been the case, being presented the opportunity to strike against at least five of his fellow Summoned at once would no doubt be an irresistible temptation.

From the furthest point of recaptured human territory, the easiest path to Hrist Hill would pass by Forestell, which was comparatively nearby. Most human forces that would be sent to subdue the supposed Esper stronghold on the hill would have their backs to the supposedly harmless Forestell once they passed it by on their way. From there, the Espers could attack his army's back and wreak havoc.

So it was that Odin had a clear idea not only of where his foes' main place of gathering was, but also of their intentions. The major offensive he had planned to make against Forestell could greatly benefit from taking the latter into consideration. As he had moved his widespread dozens of small, interlocking squads forward to Forestell and, supposedly, Hrist Hill, Odin had called a hasty conference with his military aids, and planned out Operation Ragnarok.

It would be the final, decisive blow against the Espers. It would be the defeat that they could not recover from. Perhaps the Espers would seek peace in an attempt to save their dwindling race, which would by then have a population a quarter the number that they had started the war with. Or maybe their paranoid anger and violence would continue, forcing humanity to extinguish every last magical being. It could be that they would choose some third option that Odin had not thought of.

Whatever the details of its aftermath, Operation Ragnarok, if it was successful, would be the end. It would be swift. It would be devastating. And it would be starting in minutes.

Odin looked down at the valley far below him. Even to one so aesthetically inept as he, Forestell was quite a sight to behold. A lush, green forest paradise, Forestell was a valley surrounded on most sides by steep, grassy slopes, almost too vertically slanted to walk, yet not quite sheer enough to properly climb. Against one side of the valley rose a high, rocky cliff, the top of which held a small but deep lake that a local river emptied into. The ever-flowing water coming to the lake caused a steady excess of water to pour out through an opening at the top of the cliff's side, creating a gentle waterfall that fed the many streams running through the valley, then (Odin had been told) into underground caverns that wound about this country, and beyond.

Not a single Esper was visible, even though many of the more titanic Espers should not be able to properly camouflage themselves among even this valley's deep foliage. The elder Esper that Odin had heard of from Sacred and Minotaur who kept Forestell's occupants hidden from prying eyes must have unimaginably powerful illusory magics.

For a time, Odin was totally unable to develop a plan of attack. While he had been able to devise useful general strategies for battling Espers, mapping out a siege required a degree of tactical cunning far beyond him. Caught up with the most obvious detail of his target, a sea of trees hiding who knew how many Espers within it, Odin spent hours trying fruitlessly to find a feasible way for his forces to set the forest afire and, more importantly, keep the flames going, since a great many Espers had control of wind, earth, and water, which could all, in sufficient quantities, put out any fire within Odin's army's means of starting.

Thankfully, compensating for Odin's military weak areas was what his staff were there for. After bringing the information on Forestell's layout to his advisers, Odin found himself with a solid idea for a main attack within ten minutes, and a detailed, highly promising plan for the full operation within mere hours.

Odin looked around with satisfaction. In their supposed haste to get to Hrist Hill, the humans' army had split itself to travel along both sides of Forestell's cliffs, effectively surrounding the area completely. The troops who were furthest front on each side would soon be joining back together, and with the encirclement complete, the attack would begin.

Odin gripped the weapon he had chosen for this operation, a long bow, in his left hand and readied himself as the seconds passed. His free right hand lowered carefully to his side, to rest at the top of the quiver strapped to Sleipnir's side. Though Odin wore a quiver on his back as well, this one would allow him to notch his bow again after each shot slightly faster, and give him more bolts before he would have to fall back on Gungnir and Zantetsuken, which could be less effective in this battle than long-range weapons.

And there it was. A loud crack of rocks splitting and smashing against one another filled the air. Before Odin's eyes, the far side of the valley, where his furthest troops on each side had just met up again, exploded into chaos. This side of the valley's surrounding cliffs was home to a deep lake, contained by the rocky cliff face and almost as large as the valley below it. For time immemorial, the very top of the lake had spilled gently over its boundary, creating a small waterfall that fed the small steams that laced Forestell and provided sustenance for its lush greenery.

The beginning part of Operation Ragnarok, the hammer blow that Odin had sought to find, was simple. The Mage Knights under his command with Earth magics available to them would congregate at the far end of the valley, once it was surrounded on all other sides by soldiers, and then use every spell available to them to fatally crack the cliff face, releasing the deep lake almost entirely at once on Forestell and all the hidden Espers within it.

Even as the wall of the valley's side burst apart and a deluge made its descent, booms echoed from the other side of the valley. There, all the Mage Knights Odin commanded capable of Fire magic were pooling their abilities to hit the cliff walls of Forestell's narrow exit corridor with immense explosions. The blasts knocked great chunks of rock and slate free, all collapsing into a massive pile of heavy debris. While it was doubtful that the inevitable wave of water that would hit it would be completely stopped by this barrier, it would at least be slowed, and Forestell would stay flooded for valuable extra minutes.

A tidal wave of freshwater engulfed the enclosed valley. Whatever abilities the Esper elder concealing his, her, or its brethren from sight might have possessed, they required more focus than could be maintained while being swept away by a wall of water. The Espers of the valley were suddenly quite visible. Hundreds, perhaps over a thousand, creatures of every shape, size, and color conceivable were engulfed in water and chaos. Odin watched as the tidal wave slammed against the barrier of debris at the far end of the valley, still being added to by falling chunks of earth and stone, and was satisfied to see the makeshift dam hold as various Espers caught up in the tide were dashed against the rocks. Small flashes of light could be seen from his vantage point in rapid succession-the first Esper casualties.

This was, of course, not the end of the plan. Odin notched his bow. From the valley now were rising dozens and dozens of Espers into the air. These magical beings were those gifted with flight and quick reflexes; they had been able to get airborne fast and high enough to avoid the sweeping tide.

Odin took aim and fired, sending a bolt through the eyes of a fairy no bigger than his own head that had been rising upwards near the other side of the valley. His arm raced up to his back quiver, and in almost half a second he was targeting a winged ape whose hands and feet burned with magical flame. This shot sent its missile straight through the target's neck. Odin had shot a small dragon-like Esper through the eyes before the ape had finished crashing down into the water.

As the soldiers all around the valley began to send a hail of arrows into the waters below them, creating a torrent of piercing steel tips that made pincushions of nearly every flying Esper that had been racing upwards to engage the attacking army, there was a jarring rumble from the sky. Half a dozen tremendous bolts of lightning instantly raced in jagged paths from the sky to the flooded valley below. Odin and his advisers had known that there would be plenty of Espers with a strong affinity for water who would not be broken or drowned by the flash flood unleashed on them. Thus the final step of Operation Ragnarok to use Mage Knights en mass was to cast as many Bolt spells as possible into the waters. With so many strikes of immense electrical energy at once, the Espers in the water were being electrocuted.

Odin let loose one shot after another, each one mere seconds apart. His area of the valley had fewer archers to cover it, so he would have to pick up the slack himself. The reason for this was Frigg's insistence that the spear warriors of Fraudir be given a position in this battle worthy of note. Odin had eventually decided that the best way to keep them out of the way of the soldiers who could actually be of use, and relatively safe from attack by Espers who would almost surely be more than a match for Fraudir's outdated and inflexible combat tactics, was to make them his "Personal Honor Guard." This lofty-sounding position more or less amounted to them staying near Odin so he himself could defend them against whatever threats might arise.

One particularly fast floating Esper managed to avoid the raining arrows and rise high enough into the sky to launch a counter-attack. The magical being, which seemed to be an eagle coated in steel feathers, shimmered and split into three copies of itself, each coming to hover in a line an arm's length away from the next. Each shrieked as it cast a spell.

Meteoric fireballs began to descend from the skies around each copy of the Esper, each one calling down half a dozen of the burning spheres. Odin regarded them calmly as they streaked down toward him and gave Sleipnir a small, signaling kick. Sleipnir leaped forward into a gallop, twisting, turning, leaping with the precision and exact grace earned through centuries of experience and rigorous training. Not once was Odin in any danger of falling from the steed's back during his evasive ballet, nor was he so much as singed as the rain of fire crashed down around him. Sleipnir even managed to direct his dodging prances closer to the edge of the cliff face, away from Fraudir's soldiers, who had neither gifted steeds nor extensive combat experience to help them avoid being incinerated. They owed their lives to the distance Sleipnir made between them and Odin.

Odin waited for the right opportunity, notching his bow. The moment came at the zenith of one of Sleipnir's leaps; the wind was right, the angle perfect, and Odin's position adequate. He pulled his arm back and released. Three arrows shot forth at once, having been held in perfect order along Odin's bowstring since this Esper had begun its attack. Each bolt found its mark at the same instant as its brothers, the powerful steel-tipped wood effortlessly penetrating the flying Esper's steel-armored body thanks to the incredible power of the long bow Odin held. Though the creatures could almost certainly have withstood any conventional sword's stroke, they were instantly felled now, and three flashes of light coincided, leaving as many pieces of the same Magicite shard to fall to the waters below.

Odin was about to return to his Fraudir-born charges when an unearthly howl split the air, so loud and deep that it drowned out the rest of the battle's clamor. Odin looked down to the valley and saw the water in the center churn and part as a massive tree's trunk began to sprout forth from beneath its waves. The immense wood rose higher and higher, convulsing as it grew-and when he focused closely on the sight, Odin realized that these tremors in the wood were actually the movement of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of tree trunks twisting around one another to form the growing mass of wood, as so many threads together would form rope.

The storm of arrows lessened as the human army focused its collective attention on this new sight, but by now there were few Espers left alive and conscious enough to attempt escape from their electric prison of water, anyway. Then the center of the wooden mass seemed to convulse as its boughs twisted apart, the strands opening to finally reveal a short, humanoid being standing in the midst of the amalgamation of bark and fiber, made so small by distance and height that he might not have even been seen were it not for his vibrant violet coloring. The arrows' swarm now rushed to this being, converging on him from all sides as nearly every soldier armed with a bow, including Odin, fired at this new enemy.

Yet for all the deadly missiles filling the air, not one made it to its target. There was a sudden flash of light from the Esper in the center of the trees' mass, and every arrow in the sky shattered, exploding into splinters and creating a haze of wood dust encircling the target Esper.

Another flash of light could be seen through the sawdust cloud lazily descending to the water below, and suddenly Odin's bow seemed to come alive. It twisted itself over and down, seeking to wrap itself around his wrists to restrain him. The wood arced and curled with startling speed, its movements seeming as natural to the inanimate weapon as they would to a viper, but Odin was faster still, and hurled the object from himself. A quick glimpse and the startled cries of hundreds lining the canyon's rim confirmed that the rest of the human soldiers were having similar troubles.

The wooden mass began shifting once more, growing forward now, bringing itself closer to the valley's edge far to Odin's left. The Esper was clearly taking the offensive.

While Odin had confidence in his troops' skill and number, he would rather, if at all possible, engage this enemy himself than let others be sacrificed for its defeat. He took his Gungnir in his hands, holding it aloft. He knew it was possible that the spear would be destroyed as the arrows were, but it might take the Esper by surprise, and of Odin's two choice weapons, Gungnir, at least, was the one he had the knowledge of how to recreate.

Odin spurred Sleipnir into a run, both to build up momentum and to put some distance between him and the spear soldiers accompanying him, whose inexperience against Espers would be all the more mortally apparent if they were to engage one such as this.

Having reached a speed he judged sufficient, Odin cocked his arm back, holding Gungnir high, and hurled it forth as hard as he could. While he could have thrown it skyward with his Gunge Lance technique, the spear's ascension, arc, and drop took a few seconds to complete. Odin was confident that Gunge Lance could, performed with Gungnir, drive down through the entire massive, twisted trunk that the Esper stood upon and split it asunder-had he been at his prime physical condition, Odin had no doubt that he could have driven Gungnir straight through the heart of a tree that could encompass the entire Forestell valley. This Esper, however, had protected itself from countless arrows coming at it from all sides through what could only have been magical means. Odin would rather give it as little time as possible to react to this attack, so he opted for a simple, forward throw.

The great spear hurtled through the air, Odin's skill and power coming together to give it such velocity that an observer might describe its entire flight as no more than a momentary blur. Yet for all its speed and power, it met the same fate as the arrows before it. A dozen arms' length and mere fractions of a second before it could skewer the Esper, there was another flash of light, and the spear's shaft exploded into sawdust. The wood powder completed its journey and harmlessly threw itself against the Esper, but unfortunately, Gungnir's lethal tip's flight was thrown askew by its body's explosion, and went spinning up in a high arc, until finally it fell harmlessly into the flooded valley's waters.

The attack was foiled and Odin's greatest weapon gone until he could next remake it, but it was not a total loss. Odin had, at least, drawn the Esper's attention from his soldiers to himself. The Esper turned to see where this last attack had come from, and saw the mounted warrior. The being seemed to hesitate, perhaps debating whether to bother pursuing one human when there were so many others nearer.

Odin helped the Esper make its decision by unhooking one of the standard-issue throwing knives from his belt and hurling it over the valley's expanse toward his enemy, aiming for the Esper's right eye. From handle to blade's edge, Lokithor's throwing knives were constructed of metal, and so the Esper seemed unable to stop the weapon as it had stopped the others. Instead, the creature was forced to extend a thick bough down before it to block the knife's path.

That seemed to be a compelling enough argument for the Esper, and it shifted its focus entirely to Odin. The great trunk beneath the being's feet lurched and twisted as it grew again, angling and arcing its development to approach the cliff side where Odin awaited.

Odin delayed his attack until the wooden platform the Esper stood upon had moved fully onto land. He held some disappointment that the creature made its touchdown a great many paces away. He had been hoping the Esper might be goaded into closer combat, where Odin would have a greater advantage. Nonetheless, he spurred Sleipnir forward and readied his sword.

Sleipnir had barely begun to gallop when the attack came. The great trunks of wood around the Esper twisted as though they were mad snakes, and shot forward at the approaching warrior. Sleipnir's skill dodged the first, and it went past Odin's right, growing with such force and speed that the ground shook as it smashed down into the soil. The other trunk came straight at them, angling downwards to try to knock Sleipnir right out from under his rider. The horse was too nimble again, however, and a quick diagonal leap had the manipulated tree plowing through nothing but air.

With those two attacks thwarted, the Esper looked defenseless. The act of moving out of the valley's center had required him to use most of the trees he had possessed to carry his platform, and his remaining writhing wood was now struggling to extricate itself from the earth it had smashed into. Odin tightened his grip on the Scimitar and urged Sleipnir forward again, before something smashed into his side and knocked him from his steed.

Odin hit the ground and rolled, using his momentum to push himself to his feet. Thanks to his quick reflexes, he was ready just in time to side-step several pointed, wooden tendrils seeking his heart. Odin quickly brought his sword down to chop them in two, and looked to their source. The grand trunk that Sleipnir had avoided had spawned these malevolent branches, and dozens more were bursting from its bark to continue their assault.

Odin had no interest in testing his armor's ability to withstand scores of murderous branches. He began to run forth to reach the Esper controlling it all. Wooden javelins flew through the air in curving, broken arcs, but stabbed only dirt behind the man-no doubt this Esper initially underestimated the speed that Odin had trained himself to be capable of.

This fortune was brief, however. Finding Odin's weaving gait too difficult a target for a precise strike, the Esper changed tactics. A large, thick branch shot from the trunk further down Odin's path. Its length twisted and rushed at him, moving too erratically for Odin to leap over or slide under. He braced himself for a harsh impact.

A blur passed Odin's left-Sleipnir was still with him. The war horse charged head-first into the oncoming attack, smashing it aside long enough that Odin passed it by easily.

Odin continued his dash, Sleipnir now mildly galloping an arm's length away (had he run harder, he would have passed Odin by a dozen men's length in a moment). Before Odin could try to remount his companion, another thick branch burst forth from the trunk, this one twisting toward Sleipnir like an angry squid's seeking arm. Well before it could ensnare the horse, though, Odin leaped over and severed it with an Atom Edge. He did not realize that another growth had sprung forth to impale his side until a moment later, as he saw Sleipnir give a powerful kick backwards to smash its tip asunder.

And thus did they close in on the Esper, still working in unison as they wove, dodged, and protected one another. Odin would slash whatever wooden offenders came within reach of he or his mount, and Sleipnir would smash aside, kick away, or even grasp in his teeth and tear apart any that Odin missed, all the while gradually drawing in on their prey. The Esper seemed to become desperate as they came closer, and the attacks increased, but with less coordination and precision, becoming a flurry of branching missiles of which half would have had no chance of hitting either target anyway.

Finally, as Odin and Sleipnir approached the base of the Esper's wooden stage, the magical being clapped his hands together, and a score of branching tendrils burst forward from his stage and raced in jagged paths, quick and crooked as lightning, to encircle Odin, creating a tall, web-like fence of bark to imprison him, while Sleipnir was trapped on the outside. Before Odin could attempt to climb the walls and hoist himself over this obstacle, the Esper unclasped his hands and raised them in the air. Chunks of the platform he stood upon began to rip themselves free and fly high into the sky, molding themselves during their flight into sharpened spearheads. They reached their zenith, and plummeted down upon the enclosure containing Odin.

Odin ran and dodged the dangerous rain, any thoughts of climbing out lost on the realization that the Esper was still able to guide his attack, following Odin's movements and trying to drive one of the stakes through him-Odin had no moment for climbing. Nonetheless, a new avenue of escape came to his mind, and as he evaded the Esper's offense, he ran his Scimitar along the wooden walls, concentrating as best he could upon keeping his Atom Edge in effect the whole time. Hunted as he was by the falling spikes, it took him several moments to manage enough connecting cuts to make an adequate escape route, and there was one moment in which he took too long to move away from his work, allowing one stake to plunge itself into his upper back. Thankfully, even this magically enhanced wood could not easily penetrate his heavy armor easily, and the puncture was not severe, nor the pain. Odin continued his evasions and cuts, paying little mind to the blood spilling slightly down his armor's back. Once he was finished, he called to Sleipnir his instructions, and his partner kicked that section of the enclosure away.

Odin dashed for the new hole even as the wood around it twitched, growing to repair it. He dropped his hand to grasp one of his throwing knives as he dove through the opening, turning as he did so he could make the killing throw when he rose to his feet outside...

This action turned out to be have been unnecessary. Even as Odin hit the ground, he saw an object fall from the sky above the Esper-a man, clad in armor and holding his spear with its tip pointed down. The Esper never saw the attack coming, and the man landed atop the creature, the pole arm plunging effortlessly through the creature's back and chest, even as the Esper was slammed to the ground by the man's body, the impact worsening the already undoubtedly fatal wound as the Esper's body was jammed down the spear's length violently.

Another soldier fell from the sky to strike the same place with his own spear, and then another, but they hit nothing but the wood they landed upon-the Esper had reverted to Magicite after the first hit. And as the warriors stood at full height over the last Esper to die in this battle, Odin realized that they were some of the spear warriors from Fraudir that Frigg had forced him to include in the operation. All the while that he and Sleipnir had drawn the Esper's attention, they must have been circling around to make their own attack...and now, to any and all observers, the Fraudir warriors had felled a foe that Odin seemed unable to. The ones that Odin had insisted to Frigg would be unnecessary, even useless, in the battle.

Even as cheers of victory arose all along the valley's rim, Odin frowned. Frigg would never let him live this down.


End file.
